


Year One: The Beginning

by eltrut07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Friendship, Hufflepuff John, Kidlock, Potterlock, Ravenclaw Sherlock, Retelling, Slytherin Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eltrut07/pseuds/eltrut07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To try and encourage inter-house relations, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses require their first-year students to partner up with a student from the opposite house. John, the only eleven year old sporting a cane, and Sherlock, the odd boy that everyone suspects is a seer, conveniently partner up.</p><p>Or how Sherlock and John would have handled the situations that arise throughout the Harry Potter books, without actually changing anything [significant] in Harry Potter cannon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on how Sherlock and John would have tackled the mysteries and adventures in the first Harry Potter book. 
> 
> This is not beta-ed. And I am not British, or a wizard, unfortunately.

“Professor Flitwick and I have always found it helpful to pair up the students from our houses for the classes that you lot share, to encourage inter-house relationships and make sure you interact with the other houses.” Professor Sprout spoke, addressing the first year students who were sitting around the common room, eager to begin their first term. 

“Now I know you barely know each other, but this will help-we’ve had problems in the past, and well…” she trailed off, her smile slightly waning, and Ernie Macmillan took the opportunity to raise his hand. “Yes Ernie?”

“I was just wondering, why is it just the Ravenclaws, shouldn’t we be partnering with the other houses too?” 

“The way that classes work, if you all didn’t have partners from one house-in certain classes some students would have partners while some didn’t and,” she pursed her lips, looking slightly uncomfortable, “well like I said we have had problems in the past.” 

The students were beyond curious about what kind of problems could have come up, but they were still new to the castle and held their tongues. Professor Sprout went on, discussing standard house rules and common tips to survive their first year. 

She finished speaking, and the students excitedly began chatting with each other as the older students slowly trickling back in to the common room. There was one boy, a tiny blond in a chair by the fire, sitting apart from the rest of the group. 

Professor Sprout slowly walked over, students stopping her on the way, but eventually she was standing in front of him. The boy looked up, a polite smile on his face, and she sighed as she took in his wary demeanor. 

“And how are you finding Hogwarts so far John?” she asked. 

The boy licked his lips quickly and nodded his head, “Great, different but, yeah, great.” 

She smiled, noting that he was obviously trying to act like he was fine, but she could tell that he was unhappy, borderline miserable. It happened from time to time, students who did not grow up in the wizarding world took the transition poorly, especially when they didn’t make friends on the train or during the feast. 

“Are you getting along with everyone?” she asked, her eyes glancing at his cane, and the empty chairs around him. 

His smile became tighter but he nodded again. “Yeah, of course.” 

She held in her sigh, the silence stretching between them, and her heart ached for the poor lonely boy. She wanted to tell him to get up, go speak with his housemates, they were all a good lot and would welcome him in, regardless of his injuries and his past. 

“Let me know if you need anything John.” She settled on leaving him be, having dealt with enough first years to know that he was stubborn and would need to come out of his shell on his own. 

“Thank you Professor,” John said, “I think I will go unpack.” He said, lifting himself up from the chair using his cane, she barely resisted helping the boy, but she turned after he reached the hallway that led to the rooms. 

A few students were looking at John and Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows, making them sheepishly turn away. “I won’t have that attitude in my house, you lot better remember that.” She said, and walked over to the exit of the common room, pausing before she left. “Have a good term, and let’s try and win the cup this year.” She said, smiling as her house gave a whoop of excitement. 

John Watson sat upstairs, alone, hearing the cheering students and staring at the wand in his hands. He didn’t belong here. 

**

“Why so glum John?” asked Mike Stamford as he ran up to the young Hufflepuff, slapping him on the back. John shot him a half smile as he adjusted his backpack, which fell slightly from Mike’s gesture. “You should be ecstatic mate, the term is still young- the professors haven’t gone mad yet… you should only wear that look when you’re bogged down with finals and too many scrolls to keep your arms steady.” Mike held out his arms to emphasize his lack of books and beamed at John. “I love the beginning of term, your classes are going alright yeah?” 

“Classes are going well. Still haven’t picked my partner yet.” John grimaced, not looking forward to having to find a partner. “Can’t say I know anyone who would want to be partnered with me… I am not much use am I?” They both glanced down at the plain brown cane in John’s right hand, both aware of John’s undiagnosed condition. None of the healers could figure out why John’s hand shook and why he still limped, so long after the tragic death of his family. 

Mike shot him a pitying look but shrugged. “You know…you’ re the second person to say that to me today.” 

John looked up, brows furrowed and eyes cautiously optimistic. “Who was the first?”

**

John sighed as they reached the top of the tower, the sound of rustling feathers and the occasional hoot filled his senses along with the scent that often accrued in large groups of birds. 

“Ahh Hound is back- Harry responded quick this time.” John commented as his owl swooped down from its perch and came to rest on his shoulder. There was a young boy, around his age, standing at the table in the middle of the owlery, glancing at the birds around him. 

“Mike- do you have a quill and parchment?” asked the boy without turning to look at them. 

Mike shook his head. “Don’t have my bag on me- sorry.” The way he said it made John feel as though this was a common occurrence. 

“Uhh, here,” John swung his backpack down and began rifling through it, “I have some you can have.” He said as he leafed through his belongings, pulling out a spare roll of parchment and a spare quill. 

The dark haired boy, dressed in immaculate Ravenclaw robes raised an eyebrow but took the offered items, hastily scribbling something down before striding over and handing the parchment to Hound. John’s mouth gaped as he watched his owl drop Harry’s letter in to the boy’s hand and then take flight without a glance at him. 

The boy pocketed the quill and remaining parchment and focused his attention on John. “Afghanistan or Iraq?” John blinked. 

“Sorry?”

The boy closed his eyes, seemingly in annoyance. “Afghanistan or Iraq.” 

“Did you-“ John began as he glanced to Mike who just shook his head, a smug look on his face. John pursed his lips but took a breath and replied “Afghanistan.” 

The boy’s mouth twitched for a moment before he began speaking quickly, “I like to play the violin while I am thinking and I don’t enjoy mindless chatter. I find most professors to be borderline brain dead and like to put my own twist on the spells we are assigned, I doubt the professors will appreciate it which may occasionally effect my marks.” 

“Um…why are you-“

“Partners should really know the worst about each other.” John glanced at Mike, who shot him a smug look. “And don’t say um, your perceived intelligence is dramatically lowered when you do.”

“I’m sorry I don’t-“ 

“No need to apologize, but do try and keep up- I detest repetition.” The boy grabbed his leather gloves off of the table top, slipping them on before spinning dramatically and striding to the stairs. “ I will meet you in the great hall at seven.” 

“What? ” John asked, stunned while the boy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth but John cut him off. “I heard you, no need to get testy, I just don’t…we don’t know anything about each other.” The boy continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes and John felt decidedly stupid from the look alone. “I don’t even know your name,” he added weakly, somehow realizing his protests were for naught. 

“I know that you are muggleborn, recently introduced to the world of magic. I know your parents are both dead, your father recently perishing at a military base in Afghanistan, which you were unfortunate enough to witness, resulting in your psychosomatic limp and hand tremor. I know that you wish you could share all of your new experiences with someone but don’t have anyone and won’t tell them to your sister, maybe because she’s an alcoholic, or more likely because she is a Muggle and resents you. You don’t get along with the other Hufflepuffs and don’t know anyone else in the other houses… The name is Sherlock Holmes; meet me at the great hall at 7.”

The boy spun again and flounced down the stairs in a way that looked graceful but shouldn’t have. John gaped after him, scratched his head and turned to Mike. 

“Yup, he is always like that, doesn’t get along with really anyone I am afraid. Most people are scared of him; think he is a dark wizard waiting to happen, or a seer. Rubbish if you ask me.” Mike shrugged and smiled at John, throwing his arm back around him. “I do think you two will make a good team though, and he is right John, you really don’t have friends and that is a shame. These are the best years of your life. “ He said wistfully. 

“You’re only a few years older than me.”

“Respect your elders Watson.” Mike smiled and ruffled his hair; ignoring John’s scowl and step backwards. “Now let’s go eat, I am starved.”

**

At seven on the dot John was standing outside the doors of the Great Hall, staring at the occasional student and wondering what he was doing. None of his housemates had even glanced at him as he announced that he was going for a walk, except for Stebbins who had raised his eyebrows and glanced at his cane. 

“Good you’re here, do you have your wand on you?”

John spun around, glancing at Sherlock as he appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “My wand?” John asked as he glanced down and grabbed it out of his pocket. “Of course, doesn’t everyone keep it with them?” he asked, genuinely not knowing the answer. 

“You’d be surprised.” Sherlock muttered and bounded out the front doors. John hesitated before following after him quickly, or as quickly as one could with a cane in one hand and a wand in the other. 

“Wait! Wait where are we going? Shouldn’t we be studying in the library or something?” Sherlock stopped and looked at him, his face screwed up in an almost disgusted expression. 

“The library? No. The library is dull.” His face smoothed and he glanced at John’s leg before a corner of his mouth pulled up. “We are going in the forest.” He said and began walking again. 

“Oh.” John said following, and then stopping. “Wait- the forest- as in the forbidden forest?” he asked. “Isn’t that forbidden?” 

“Yes. Wonderful observation.” Sherlock stopped again and slowly looked at John as he caught up to him. “You’ve been on a military base, seen acts of destruction, violence, death.” Sherlock said lowly. John nodded, saying yes to each one, although his father had tried to shield him from as much of it as he could. 

Sherlock paused, cocking an eyebrow, “want to see some more?” 

“Oh God yes.” John said shooting the other boy a smile. Sherlock smiled back and walked towards the forest, a similar smile on his face and his speed a little slower so John could keep up. 

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock spoke, “you can ask your questions.” 

John’s eyes widened, thinking momentarily that maybe the rumors of Sherlock being a seer weren’t far off base. “I just…is it true what they say that you are a seer? How did you know all that information about me?” 

“Seer- no don’t be obvious. I can neither read minds nor the future. And I didn’t “know” all of that information about you, I observed.” He said haughtily. 

He glanced over and saw John staring at him expectantly and he took a deep breath. “The way you hold yourself, your posture, your haircut, screams military background, Muggle military background, Auror training never emphasizes posture but Muggle military training is immersed in it-but you are far too young to be a soldier, not many governments allow eleven year olds to enlist and certainly not the British government. So that means military relative, could be a grandfather or uncle instilling a sense of military respect and demeanor, but your tan lines support a different theory, you would have spent a lot of time in a different sunny area to develop that type of tan, which means you likely lived on base in a sunny location. So-close relative, only close relatives are allowed to live on base, but you’re wearing his dog tags- and I say his, statistically it is more likely that it was your father-could be your mother although the name on the tags around your neck is clearly male, so military father. If your father was still alive you wouldn’t be wearing his tags, and of course there is your injury-its psychosomatic, anything else could easily be mended by any of the healers at St. Mungos, but it’s not healed, and you stand perfectly fine when not thinking about it- which means psychosomatic injury, now what would cause a young boy to get a psychosomatic injury and wear his father’s dog tags around his neck- witnessing his father’s death.” 

“Wow.” John said. 

“Should I continue?” John just nodded, stunned. 

“Now, how did I know you were muggleborn- that was easy. You grew up on a Muggle military base and were wearing jeans under your robes, a taboo in the Wizarding world- most wizards refrain from jeans and stick to trousers. Your bag, it is not a common wizarding bag, it’s used by Muggle students. When you handed me parchment and a quill you had to get through numerous blank scrolls and a rather large pot of ink, now if it was later in term it could be that you had a lot of homework, or maybe you are just neurotic and like to be safe but you didn’t think twice about handing over a spare quill and parchment to me, something someone who was so conscientious of being over prepared would hesitate at doing. So you like writing and want to write, you looked right in to the owelry, knew exactly where your owl would be and it didn’t hesitate to come to you. You spend a lot of time there but don’t necessarily send a lot of letters. You’re clearly a muggleborn itching to tell someone about the new world you are in. 

“Then of course there is the letter your owl had. The writing on it is slanted, written slowly, as if someone was trying to keep the handwriting neat but it was done shakily, now it could be that it is written by an older relative, but you wouldn’t hesitate to tell all of your adventures to an older relative and the grip of the person was strong, you can tell by the indent of the ink on the paper- it was not written by a weak elderly relative- and if you had another relative you most likely wouldn’t have been living on a base with your father in the first place-so sibling is looking better- although sibling was a bit of a shot in the dark- I recognized the resigned look you had when you saw your sister’s handwriting- the type of look that only siblings tend to achieve- and yes sister, you can tell by the feminine style of the writing and the way she curls her ys,. Then there is the scent of alcohol and stale cigarettes that was wafting from the feathers of your owl. If your sister had been having a rare night of drinking she would have waited to sober up to write her baby brother a letter, and the owl would have waited until your sister was home, instead of going to a pub to deliver the post- especially if it could have been seen by Muggles- which means that this is a common occurrence one even your owl is used to and knows the patrons won’t be surprised by the sight of it. What type of person writes shakily-tries to hide it but doesn’t have the mental forethought to wait to write the letter until sober, hangs out in a place that smells like alcohol and cigarettes often enough that one’s owl smells like it- Alcoholic.” 

“And the Muggle part?’

Sherlock smirked. “Ahhh that one was obvious- the letter delivered to you was in a Muggle postage envelope and clearly written in pen. If she was a wizard she would’ve used a quill and parchment, wizards, even squibs, have the habit of such formalities. But Muggle pens, you never see a wizard’s letter written in pen, never see a Muggle’s post without it.

“How did I know she resents you? If she didn’t you would write her more, if she was a wizard you would tell her stories that she would surely connect with you about her own experiences in Hogwarts, sentiment, or if she was a Muggle she would want to hear about the exciting new wizarding world you live in- I have heard that for Muggles, discovering the wizarding world is life altering and they often are overwhelmed with questions to ask. But the letter she sent was thin- written quickly and the amount of parchment and ink you have left suggests that you don’t respond with long letters either. You had the previously mentioned look of disappointment when you received the letter- if she didn’t resent you- you would have been excited to read the contents, eager- not resigned to receive the post. What could cause a Muggle to resent her muggleborn wizard brother? Maybe you did something in previous years to piss her off but that still wouldn’t prevent you from telling her about the wizarding world. So, resentful Muggle sister, thin letters, she resents your magic.”

Sherlock stopped speaking with a small click sound as his tongue snapped off the roof of his mouth and he stared forward, interested to see if John would hit him or run away, or ask him to tell him his future like all of his housemates had. 

“That…was…. brilliant.” John said and Sherlock almost stumbled as he whipped his head to look at him. 

“Really? You think so?” he asked, his voice sounding young and boyish for the first time since John had met him. 

“Of course! Blimey you knew everything about me from a few glances at me and my stuff…it is brilliant- you are brilliant.” John beamed and shook his head, looking at his cane as it hit the soft ground. 

“Most people say piss off.” Sherlock pointed out and they shared a smile. “Did I get it all right?” he asked, hopefully and John pursed his lips, part of him happy to be able to knock the know-it-all down a peg, and part of him not wanting to disappoint the boy. 

“The base we were on did get ambushed, my sister is an alcoholic and she is a Muggle through and through who resents me now more than ever.” John said. And Sherlock nodded, smiling. “But, apparently my mum was a witch,” John said and Sherlock stopped, grimacing. 

“Of course! There is always something, that explains your sister’s resentment even more.” Sherlock said as he glared at his gloved hands. 

John shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, I only just found out myself. Had no idea before I got my letter, I don’t even know if my dad knew.” John stopped as they reached the edge of the lawn and the forest loomed in front of them. 

“So. Are you going to explain why we are risking expulsion to go in to the forest?” John asked lightly. Sherlock shook his head, and glanced up at John. 

“Oh yes, of course. I am sure you have heard about the Unicorns that keep getting murdered?” Sherlock asked and John nodded. “Good. Let’s go.” He said and strode forward, leaving John staring at his back in surprise. 

“Wait! You git! Wait!” John yelled and Sherlock rolled his eyes but stopped. “Just because I have heard about it doesn’t mean I understand why we are rushing in to the forest, alone, at night!” 

“We aren’t alone, there are two of us.” Sherlock pointed out. 

John shook his head. “I meant, we don’t have an adult with us.” 

Sherlock groaned and looked up at the night sky. “Don’t be so dull, we don’t need “adults” they are all morons anyway.” 

“Says the kid who wants to go running in to the Forbidden Forest with someone who can’t run.” John deadpanned. Sherlock lowered his head and leveled John with an inquisitive stare. 

“Fine. I heard Hagrid speaking to Headmaster Dumbledore about the murders-“

“Why do you call them murders, maybe they just died from…from…other causes?“ John asked, feeling stupid as the words left his mouth and expecting Sherlock to scoff at him. But the boy didn’t, he merely nodded his head at John and continued speaking. 

“Valid point but I already ruled out any accidental deaths that they could have happened upon. No, these deaths, the way that Hagrid described them to Headmaster Dumbledore….they were clearly intentional attacks.” Sherlock said, rubbing his hands together in a gleeful sort of way. 

“But who would want to kill Unicorns? They are peaceful creatures aren’t they?” John asked, trying to wrap his head around it all. It was difficult enough when he first heard the rumors and discovered the Unicorns actually existed, let alone trying to process something maliciously killing them. 

“Yes, who indeed. I have 12 scenarios in mind, but the number could increase or decrease once we go to the scene of the most recent murder. Chances are it is someone after Unicorn blood- you wouldn’t know, being a Muggleborn but it can keep someone alive- although it curses the person who consumes it. I haven’t ruled out other creatures who just hate Unicorns yet though, that will depend on how the Unicorn was killed- if the death was done so as to allow someone to collect as much blood as possible- or if it was done without a care of the blood….makes all the difference really.” 

John stared again, his mouth gaping as Sherlock looked out at the Forest. “Let’s go.” Sherlock said, but John grabbed his arm and shook his head. “Oh honestly! If you aren’t interested in solving one of the only mysteries to occur since we have been at this place then go- but keep in mind that you have now delayed me and I will need to spend tomorrow looking for a different assistant to accompany me!” 

“We’ve only been here for a month.” John said weakly but at Sherlock’s glare he shook himself of that train of thought, “I am not saying I won’t help you, I will, I just wanted to,” John held out his arm, his hand out towards Sherlock, “I never introduced myself- John Watson.” He said and Sherlock raised an eyebrow and shook his hand. “I figure you should probably know a bloke’s name before you go traipsing in to the Forbidden Forest to solve a murder mystery.” 

Sherlock nodded and shook John’s hand once more before letting go. “Now let’s go, John, the game is on!” He said gleefully, emphasizing John’s name as he almost skipped in to the Forrest. 

John couldn’t believe the insanity that was his life, and a million reasons why he shouldn’t follow the barmy boy ran through his head, but instead of thinking rationally he shook his head- grinned- and followed after the mad genius. 

**

The grin faded from John’s face after the first fifteen minutes of their trek through the forest. Eventually not even the excitement of doing something so, well, forbidden, could distract John from the hassle of walking through the forest with a cane. He was pretty sure that walking through any forest would be annoying, let alone the forbidden forest, which had the most bizarre unknown things popping from the ground, and tree roots that seemed to grow by the second. 

After another twenty minutes of tortuous walking, or more like stumbling on John’s part, Sherlock slowed down, coming to a stop at a thankfully smooth area. John paused beside him, looking around, but beside the random fifteen feet of area in front of them without trees or roots or who knows what, the forest looked the same as it had their whole journey. 

Just as John was going to ask why they stopped, not that he was complaining, Sherlock pointed to a patch a few feet away, turning to John expectantly. “Well?” he asked, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for John to say something. 

John looked passed Sherlock at the spot he was pointing at and saw….nothing. “Well, it looks like…a spot of mud.” 

Sherlock nodded, looking almost pleased. “What else?”

John sighed, suddenly not wanting to disappoint Sherlock, who clearly had noticed something about the spot and wanted John to figure it out as well. John bent down, ignoring the slight twinge in his leg and examined the spot, noticing that the ground was wet…but nothing else. He glanced up at Sherlock and shrugged, “It’s wet.” He stated. 

Sherlock pushed his robes out before kneeling besides John, nodding as he went. “Yes, very astute John. But why is it wet?” Sherlock asked, emphasizing the why and looking down thoughtfully. 

“Maybe it rained?” John asked, racking his brain for reasons. 

“No. If it had rained then why would this spot, and not the others be wet? There is nothing above or around this area that would explain how this spot stayed wet while everything else dried. Think John.” Sherlock said, his tone growing more annoyed. 

John glared at him but continued to think, his eyes slowly going to the spot. He tried to think about why Sherlock would have stopped, what would have made him stop? They were in there to look for a Unicorn body, why would he stop around a patch of wet ground? John looked again and cocked his head as he noticed that there was almost a shimmer to the mud. His eyes widened as he realized what this might be and he turned to see Sherlock smiling at him. 

“It’s Unicorn Blood!” John shouted, almost laughing in his joy that he had gotten it right. 

“Yes well you should have realized it immediately but yes, it is indeed Unicorn blood.” Sherlock pulled out his wand, whispering lumos and his wand illuminated the spot. With the extra light it was obvious that Unicorn blood had been spilled there, the shiny almost metallic looking substance shimmering in the wand light. 

Sherlock passed his wand over the spot, turning his head this way and that way, narrowing his eyes and bending close, at one point John was sure he heard Sherlock sniff it but when he saw Sherlock stick his tongue out he drew the line. “Alright- didn’t you say drinking this could curse you?” John cried out, a little too loudly, grabbing Sherlock’s arm and jolting him back. 

“It wouldn’t effect me John, don’t be dull, it is for science.” Sherlock said without looking at him, leaning forward again. 

“Nope. No! You twit! What do you mean it wouldn’t effect you? Do you have some antidote to curses in that robe or something?” 

“You are being ridiculous.” Sherlock said as he shook John’s hand off of his shoulder and stood up, brushing the dirt off of his robe. 

John gaffed as he stood up, a lot less elegantly, “this coming from the nutter that was about to lick unicorn blood after telling me it curses you.” 

“I-“ Sherlock was abruptly cut off as an odd rustling noise sounded behind them. They both turned quickly to look but couldn’t see anything but the forest. Sherlock pointed his wand forward but his lumos spell wasn’t strong enough to illuminate much more than the small area around them. 

Then they both heard it again and Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and pushed him forward, “Run!” he yelled and they were off, their hearts racing as their feet pounded against the forest ground. John sincerely hoped that Sherlock knew where they were going because he had absolutely no idea, and if Sherlock didn’t they would end up eaten or lost for days, and then eaten. 

Neither of them stopped to listen to whether they were being followed, both not wanting to risk the chance that they were and lose their head start. John thanked heavens that his father used to make him go on runs with him everyday, otherwise he would be bent over a tree by now, vomiting his dinner up. 

Finally John noticed the trees beginning to thin out and he almost shouted in victory as he and Sherlock sprinted the last bit and collapsed once they made it to the inviting grass of the lawn. They both panted as they tried to catch their breath, and John made the mistake of catching Sherlock’s eye- causing them to break out in peels of breathy laughter. 

Finally after they stopped laughing and their breathing had normalized John sighed, staring up at the sky and feeling alive for the first time in months. He turned his head to Sherlock and the boy was staring at him, eyes glinting happily. 

“I don’t see why you are so happy, we got chased by who knows what and we didn’t find the Unicorn body.” John said softly, pulling himself up in to a sitting position and checking his wand to make sure it was alright. 

“I knew we weren’t going to find the Unicorn, I heard Hagrid tell Headmaster Dumbledore that it had been taken care of.” 

“But…then why did we just go wandering through the Forbidden Forest?” John asked incredulously. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting up. “I don’t know why you keep dwelling on the fact that it is forbidden, students break that rule all the time, and if they don’t they should. Honestly, calling something Forbidden and telling children not to go in it is an invitation.” 

“Maybe for you, but some of us like to follow rules when they are in place to protect us. Case in point, being chased by a mad, whatever that was.” John waved his arm in the direction of the forest. 

“Protection! Don’t be dull John.” Sherlock stood up, looking at John as he did the same and then smiling at him. “I knew that the unicorn wouldn’t be in there, but its blood was and we learned a great deal about the attack from it.” Sherlock said. “But that wasn’t expected, that was just luck.” 

John raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem the type to believe in luck.” 

Sherlock shrugged. “We weren’t in there to find the unicorn or its blood. We were in there to prove a point.” 

“And what point was that? That Sherlock Holmes is a rebel who doesn’t follow rules?” John said smiling at him. 

Sherlock put his hands in his robe pockets and gestured to Hogwarts. “Let’s go before I have to teach you how to be stealthy, Merlin knows that will take more than a few months, let alone a few minutes, and we can’t afford you getting detention if Filch catches you.” They began walking back to the castle. 

“You sneak around the castle after curfew?” John asked, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Yes and you just ran through the forbidden forest. Seems we are both rebels.” John grinned at Sherlock and looked down, nodding his head. 

“Can’t argue there, we ran-“ John paused and noticed that his hands were empty, he turned his head and noticed that his cane wasn’t where they had been laying down, which means he must have dropped it during the mad dash out of the forest. 

Sherlock continued to walk, letting John come to terms with his discovery. He turned his head and glanced at John’s smiling face as the boy jogged up beside him. 

“My limp is gone.” He gushed excitedly, holding out his hands and noticing the tremor was gone as well. 

Sherlock pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, glancing up at the hourglass relieved to see John had twenty minutes to make it to his bed before curfew. He paused and turned to John, taking in the boy’s happy demeanor, such a stark contrast to how he had looked when Sherlock first met him. 

“Like I said, proving a point.” John’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, most likely to berate Sherlock but instead he snapped it shut, and his mouth twitched in an almost smile. “Goodnight John.” 

John grinned, shaking his head once and straightening his arms. “Good night Sherlock.” The boys parted ways, John down the stairs, heading to his dormitory while Sherlock went up, making his way to the Ravenclaw tower, both excited about the days to come.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John smiled and unfolded the paper, reading Sherlock’s handwriting; Third Floor- SH. John pulled a face and re-read the note, turning to Sherlock. “Third floor? As in the third floor that is absolutely forbidden to students?” Sherlock smiled in response. “Oh no. “ John said, turning from Sherlock and pursing his lips. 
> 
> “John.” Sherlock said, a slight whine to his voice. 
> 
> Because really, how else would you expect a young Sherlock Holmes to react to being told a floor is off limits?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

**  
Life continued on for Sherlock and John, although John’s life was a lot more pleasant now that he wasn’t an eleven year old using a cane and dealing with a tremor in his wand hand. People from his house began approaching him more easily, as well as people from other houses. Of course he wasn’t exactly thrilled that these people hadn’t felt comfortable talking to him while he had a cane but he quickly got over it, as kids usually did. 

And there was also the fact that classes were now a lot more interesting with Sherlock Holmes as his partner. 

Not that it was necessarily always pleasant, because John often felt like slamming his head on to his desk repeatedly, especially when Sherlock disagreed with a professor. But John couldn’t deny that it was certainly fascinating having Sherlock Holmes at his side.

The days seemed to whiz by at an unnatural speed and John blinked in amazement as he entered the Great Hall to the sight of hundreds of pumpkins and festive Halloween decorations. He still couldn’t get over magic sometimes. 

He sat down and eagerly began piling food on his plate, it was still relatively early and most of the students had yet to rise from their beds. John had decided he would try and take advantage of the lazy Saturday morning and get some homework done. He had learned quickly that if he wanted to be on a comparable academic level to Sherlock he would have to take his studies seriously. 

He smiled as he put a delicious looking spread on a thick piece of toast and brought it up to his mouth. 

“Didn’t you get my note?” Sherlock asked, coming out of nowhere and grabbing the piece of bread out of John’s hand, taking a bite of it himself. 

John shot him a glare. “What note?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes before sliding in to the seat next to John, glancing at his plate before grabbing various food items and throwing them on top. “Hm. This is why I detest using other people’s owls, they never find the right person.” Sherlock paused for a moment before shrugging and taking another bite of John’s toast. 

“Are you allowed to use other people’s owls?” John asked curiously. He often didn’t know proper wizarding etiquette. It wasn’t like he kept Hound secured anywhere but he didn’t know how he felt about someone else just using the owl without him knowing. 

Sherlock ignored his question. “Hurry up and eat. We have things to do.” Sherlock said, shooting a pointed look at John’s full plate. 

John figured he wouldn’t get anymore out of Sherlock until the drama queen felt like opening up so he began eating his breakfast, cheering up as food entered his system. Whoever did the cooking for Hogwarts was a bloody genius. 

The fluttering of wings sounded as the daily post arrived. Sherlock hummed as he looked at one owl, carrying a sheet of parchment attached to its foot. The owl swooped the hall once before circling over john and landing at the table, holding its leg out. 

John swallowed what was in his mouth and quickly grabbed the note, the owl taking off immediately with a soft hoot and an almost reproachful look at Sherlock. John looked at him with his eyebrows raised but Sherlock simply shrugged. 

“It might be frowned upon to use an owl without permission.” He said. 

John smiled and unfolded the paper, reading Sherlock’s handwriting; Third Floor- SH. John pulled a face and re-read the note, turning to Sherlock. “Third floor? As in the third floor that is absolutely forbidden to students?” Sherlock smiled in response. “Oh no. “ John said, turning from Sherlock and pursing his lips. 

“John.” Sherlock said, a slight whine to his voice. 

“No way Sherlock! I have already broken enough school rules, and besides, I have to study.” He said, gesturing to his backpack, which was haphazardly lying on the ground where anyone could trip on it. 

“Study,” Sherlock scoffed and flicked a hand towards John’s bag, “you don’t need to study, you are relatively clever for a Hufflepuff and you have me.” Sherlock stood up in one fluid motion. “Now, you have eaten enough food to not be cranky so I-“

“Stop!” John shouted in a whisper, grabbing Sherlock’s arm and tugging him towards him. The other boy quickly sat down, shooting John an annoyed look as he flicked imaginary dust off of his robes. “I understand your need to know everything, and having a whole floor off limits must be eating you alive, but I highly doubt that Dumbledore doesn’t have some type of security surrounding the area. We can’t just go barging in.” 

Sherlock scrunched up his face and John put a hand out, trying to prevent what was without a doubt going to be a long insulting tirade. “That said. We should go at night, far less conspicuous.” John shot Sherlock a grin and the Ravenclaw relaxed his face. 

“Hmm yes, good point John.” John beamed again. “But it’s wrong.” John stopped smiling. “Oh don’t be like that. Think about it John, no one would suspect that two first year students, let alone a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff would just waltz in to a completely off limits area of the castle in broad daylight on a weekend while students and professors were all milling about.” 

John had to admit that Sherlock had a point, although whether it would work was a whole other story. He was still somewhat convinced that the moment they stepped in to the area they would be transported in to Dumbledore’s office or something. 

“Right.” John said, swinging his legs around and standing up, grabbing his bag and turning to the door. “You coming or what?” he asked and Sherlock smiled as he jumped from the bench and the two chuckled as they walked out of the hall. 

**

Surprisingly, to John, unsurprisingly to Sherlock- “people rarely see what is right in front of their faces John”-no one noticed them as they stepped off of the staircase leading to Ravenclaw tower and instead went on one of the staircases that went to the restricted third floor corridor. 

“This is mad.” John hissed to Sherlock, a wide smile on his face as they hopped off of the moving stairs, hitting the floor and walking forward. John half expected them to be portkeyed in to Dumbledore’s office the second they landed but miraculously, nothing happened. 

“Hm.” Sherlock hummed, looking almost disappointed. John rolled his eyes, clapping him on the back as they moved forward down the hallway. 

“How long has this floor been forbidden?” John asked curiously. 

Sherlock shrugged, his eyes scanning the blank hallway. John had no idea what he could be looking at- there was nothing, not even a spider web. It was strange to walk in a hallway that didn’t have a moving photograph or painting. 

“Has it always just been like this? Why even have a third floor? It seems pointless.” John pointed out. “Can’t they just magic it away?” John paused. “Then again in this wonky castle you can barely tell what floor is what, I bet if they just didn’t allow the stairs to go to this floor no one would even realize it was here.” John glanced over at Sherlock, “well almost no one.” Sherlock shot him a small smirk. 

“While I do find your musings absolutely riveting,” John glared at Sherlock but the boy looked forward, stopping suddenly and turning to his right. “We are here.” 

John peered around Sherlock’s lithe frame; an entrance way was just beyond him. “What is it?” 

“No idea.” Sherlock turned to him, smiling and John mirrored the look. “Let’s find out.” 

**

“How dull.” Sherlock said for the fifth time. For once, John agreed with him. The room was completely dull; there was absolutely nothing in it. 

“Is it magic?” John asked and Sherlock shot him an unimpressed look. “What? Can’t someone flick their wand and hide things?”

Sherlock looked blankly at John for a moment before looking up at the ceiling and taking a breath. “Do you ever use your own senses or do you just mindlessly follow everything that you hear?” 

John bristled but Sherlock waved his hand. “You can hide things, you can make them smaller, larger, but you can never make something disappear completely. It could be transported to somewhere else. And while that would be an interesting theory- that whatever is in this room is hidden but actually somewhere else- it is not only excessive- why point out the third floor is forbidden if you were just going to keep what was forbidden in a different spot- but look and feel John. What do your senses tell you?” 

John blinked and at Sherlock’s expectant look he took a deeper look around the room, walking along the walls and trying to see the room how Sherlock saw it. But it was futile. “I don’t know Sherlock, there’s nothing here, there isn’t even anything that shows that something had been here at some point, and this room is... just empty…. I don’t know.” John shrugged and looked to Sherlock who was grinning widely. 

“Exactly John. You don’t know, but you observed!” The boy clapped his hands together once before spinning around the room. “There is nothing in this room that indicates that something had ever been here. The stones are all the same color, the dust patterns are all the same, the textures of the stones, all of it is uniform. There was never anything in this room.” 

John smiled although he didn’t really feel like he accomplished anything. “You know what we have to do now?” Sherlock asked excitedly. 

John shrugged. “I think it is too naïve of me to say homework. I am guessing you want to find what actually makes this floor forbidden?” 

Sherlock nodded, his curls flying around his face as he almost jumped in excitement. “Oh this is fabulous! Finally something interesting.” 

“A slayed unicorn and a dash through the forbidden forest weren’t thrilling enough for you?” 

Sherlock ignored him and strode out of the room. “Wait!” John whisper shouted as Sherlock strode down the hallway determined and hopped on a staircase right as it swung around. John tried to run to catch up but the staircase zoomed away, taking Sherlock with it. 

“Bugger.” John grumbled as he stood by the end of the floor, not a staircase in sight. John sighed and leaned up against the wall, he had no idea how often a staircase passed by this hallway. Hell he barely understood how the staircases worked. 

He could feel a chill run down his spine as he realized he was in a dark hallway, illuminated only slightly by the lone window at the end of the hallway, a hallway that was on the floor that was strictly forbidden. John pursed his lips and rubbed his hands together. 

The last thing he wanted was to get caught and thrown out of school. Or whatever the punishment was for breaking rules at a magical school. He had no idea, although he should probably start looking in to them, he had a feeling that being friends with Sherlock Holmes would make the knowledge of the rules come in handy. 

A squawk came from down the hallway and John’s heart raced as he realized he was trapped with no means of escape. He looked down the few floors, luckily the third floor wasn’t too high up but it would definitely break a few bones if not kill him. Then again- there was probably some type of spell in place to prevent students from falling to their deaths. 

John didn’t particularly want to take the leap and find out. 

A beautiful black owl came from down the hallway, an envelope in its beak. The owl perched on his shoulder and nudged the envelope at John’s face. John narrowed his eyes, wondering what the heck this owl was doing and opened the envelope. 

There was a piece of parchment with beautiful handwriting in black ink, spelling out his name. John jerked back slightly and glanced at the bird but it was looking up at the walls lining the area where the staircases frequently moved. John glanced back at the letter, reading;

Please look at the portrait directly across from the forbidden floor you are standing on. 

John narrowed his eyes, looking out over the space, at the painting of a young child, playing a flute or something. The child stopped playing the flute when it saw John look at him, and turned around completely, his back to John. 

That was strange. John looked back down at the letter;

Look at the three portraits to the right most wall.

John glanced out again, leaning over the gap in the floor as he noted the three portraits, one of a man and his wife, a few horse-like creatures but John didn’t recognize what animals they actually were, and one of a woman sitting uptight on a rock ledge. John watched as all of the people and creatures looked at him and then turned around. 

The letter mocked him. If you must, you can look to your left as well. 

John steadfastly did not look to the left. 

A staircase suddenly came in to view, a young woman in Slytherin robes standing on it, writing in a small book. John glanced at the letter as the staircase stopped. 

I believe I have made my point. Get on the staircase Mr. Watson. 

John didn’t hesitate- he’d rather take his chances with a group of Slytherins than a professor chewing his head off and possibly expelling him for being somewhere expressly forbidden. He walked on to the staircase and it grinded against the stone as it moved up. 

“So we aren’t going to the dungeons then?” John asked, shooting a smile at the girl. She raised an eyebrow but continued to scrawl in her book. “Can you tell me where we are going? Can’t say I have been on this staircase…or in this area of the castle really.” 

The girl’s mouth twitched. “Is that your little eleven year old version of come here often?” John blushed and the girl laughed. 

“Did it work?” John asked, getting over his embarrassment. 

The girl looked at him a moment more before continuing to write in her book. “My names John.” John said, at a loss for words. 

“I know.” She said quietly, the only sound between them was her quill, scratching on the parchment. John felt awkward, confused and intrigued all at once. And what was this- the longest staircase in the world?

“What is your name?” John asked, trying to break the silence. 

“Anthea.” She replied. 

John stared at her, at her perfect Slytherin robes, at her perfectly maintained appearance and confident demeanor. “Nice to meet you.” He said, feeling almost shy now as he really looked at her. 

She smiled, closing her book and tucking it in to the pocket of her robes, her quill going in to hair as she quickly spun it in a bun. “Off you go.” She said putting her hand on John’s back and lightly guiding him off of the staircase. John shrugged and continued to walk- it wasn’t often (ever) that a beautiful girl took him to strange places. 

They walked down a wide, brightly lit hallway. “You have no idea where we are do you?” Anthea asked, smiling down at him as if he were a cute but hopeless puppy. 

John shrugged. “No clue.” 

Anthea shook her head, knocking twice on the door to her left and moving back, gesturing for John to enter after the door swung open. Anthea stood in the hallway, ignoring John as he asked her if she was coming, closing the door behind him. 

“Well than.” John said, looking forward and surprised to find himself in an empty classroom. Well not completely empty. At the end of the room was a young man, leaning against the professor’s desk, a haughty smile on his face. John raised his eyebrows and stared at him. 

“So….” He said a tad annoyed with this whole operation. 

The young man motioned forward. “Do come forward, I won’t hex.” There was something almost familiar about the drawl in the man’s voice but John couldn’t place it. 

“I am happy to see your limp and tremor has healed. I can’t imagine how dreadful it must have been, children can be so cruel to those who are different.” 

John paused, wanting to bristle and be angry but at the same time he couldn’t really get angry at someone for pointing out the obvious. It wasn’t like someone wouldn’t notice that the little boy with the cane no longer used it. 

“What is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?” the man asked suddenly, jarring John from his thoughts. 

“Sherlock?” John asked confused, but the man just raised an eyebrow. “He’s my friend.”

The man barked out a laugh. “Sherlock Holmes does not have friends.” 

John wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. “Well maybe he didn’t but he has one now.”

A slow smile pulled across the man’s face. “Yes he does, doesn’t he. Tell me John, what is it you two see in each other? Most people don’t tolerate Sherlock and you seem to….” The man trailed off and raised an eyebrow, “like him, why is that?”

“I really don’t think it is any of your business.” John said, a little bit snotty but he didn’t really care. 

“On the contrary it is.” 

“It really isn’t.” John said. “And why are you asking me about Sherlock anyway?” John almost shook himself as he realized he was talking to a complete stranger about his friend. He glanced the red-haired man up and down and noticed that he was wearing a suit and not robes. “Are you even a student?” John asked. 

“Hmmm. Do you normally charge in to conversations head first without thinking? Perhaps the sorting hat should have put you in Gryffindor.” 

John narrowed his eyes, not liking this man or his tone. “Oh don’t be so offended, you really do have trust issues. And yet you chose Sherlock Holmes to befriend. Curious.” 

John was just about done with this conversation, and this whole day really. Breaking the rules, getting ditched by Sherlock and then dealing with this nutter. “I will just be off then.” John said. 

The man dipped his head in acceptance, reaching in to his suit pocket and John’s hand twitched, moving towards his own wand. “No need to be alarmed Mr. Watson, “ the young man grabbed the folded up handkerchief and flicked it, causing it to instantly transform in to a black school robe. The man effortlessly slid in to it, the Slytherin crest eye level with John, as was the shiny Prefect’s badge. 

“Do tell Sherlock I said hello.” The man said, motioning for John to move along. 

“And who do I tell him says hello?” John was definitely annoyed; this man was a prefect and obviously thought he was better than John and had brought him here in an attempt to scare him. Others had warned him about the arrogance of Slytherins but this was the first time he had experienced it firsthand. 

“Hmmm his archenemy.” John rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to flip this man a rude gesture. “Good day Mr. Watson, and you’ll find if you flick your wand less violently at the end of your “leviosa” you won’t send any more inkwells crashing in to the wall.” 

John didn’t even try to stop himself from sticking his tongue out at the young man, turning and leaving the room before he could see his reaction. 

**

John didn’t see Sherlock again until he had potions with him the following week. John had gotten over the annoyance at the boy for ditching him, but he was curious about the “archenemy” and what Sherlock would say. 

Sherlock glanced at him passively as he sat down in the stool beside him, muttering a thanks as he noted that Sherlock had gotten him his cauldron from storage. “What are we working on today?” John asked. 

Sherlock ignored him, instead he looked John up and down, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the sleeves of his robes and his hands. John could only imagine what Sherlock was observing and deducing from that glance. 

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said in a weird tone. John glanced around but no one was paying them attention, all milling about quietly to make sure they were ready before Professor Snape entered the room. 

“What does that do?” John asked, looking at the board but nothing was written on it. “Oh no, were we supposed to read about this one before?” John quickly rifled through his bag, grabbing his potions textbook and placing it on the table. 

“Mycroft is a person, the person you met on Saturday, not a potion.” Sherlock said and John couldn’t tell if Sherlock was disgusted with him or trying not to laugh. Could be both. 

“A person I met on Saturday…” John trailed off and then immediately he thought of the man in the empty classroom. “Oh! Yeah! He called himself your archenemy. You know him?” John asked. 

Sherlock sighed, sounding completely put out. “Unfortunately, yes.” 

John smiled. “He’s a bit of a nutter, no offense.” 

Sherlock grinned nodding and opened his mouth but Professor Snape chose that moment to slam in to the classroom and all thoughts of conversation flew from the room. Even Sherlock wouldn’t intentionally irritate professor Snape. 

**

 

John never did get the chance to discuss “Mycroft” with Sherlock, the potions lesson was grueling and while Sherlock normally helped John as much as he could- potions was the one class that he really couldn’t. Snape was very strict about when and how students could help each other and he refused to advocate what he believed was the foolish pairing system. Sherlock of course helped when he could, coughing when John was about to make a terrible mistake or humming when he was doing something correctly. 

But while John could get by in potions, relatively unscathed, Sherlock flew by in a blur of brilliance. Even Professor Snape begrudgingly praised Sherlock and awarded him points every class. It was difficult not to when he finished exactly on time and created perfect potions. 

Snape often dismissed the students who finished their potions and so John was usually left in the classroom with his fellow Hufflepuffs as the Ravenclaws all slowly trickled out. 

And then by the next class, John had completely forgotten about the strange man named Mycroft. Classes began getting more difficult as the professors began moving from introductory lessons to more practical lessons. John found each day to be both overwhelming and rewarding. 

Sherlock helped him when he could, although John’s ignorance of the wizarding world often frustrated him and he would occasionally just flounce away when he grew bored. 

John ventured out of the library on the night of Halloween, his stomach reminding him that it was time for supper. He sighed happily as he sat down at the table, smiling at Susan Bones as he began filling his plate. 

He joined in the conversation with his fellow Hufflepuffs, chiming in when he could but mostly shoveling food in his mouth. Suddenly the doors to the hall were flung open and everyone turned to see Professor Quirrell, distraught and fleeing from the doors to the Professors’ table. 

“TROLL!” He yelled. “TROLL! IN THE DUNGEON!” He screeched, “Thought you’d outta know.” And then fainted. John continued to chew as the people around him began screaming, jumping from their tables and running in mobs to the door. 

John glanced up and saw Sherlock sitting across from him, at the Ravenclaw table, staring intently at Professor Quirell from his prone position on the floor. Vaguely John heard Dumbledore shouting for silence and directing students to follow the prefects to their dormitories immediately. 

Sherlock made eye contact with John and nodded, standing and John mirrored him, both boys making their way towards each other. John’s eyes narrowed as the Slytherin, Mycroft, approached Sherlock, speaking quickly but Sherlock just waved him off, moving towards John. 

John watched Mycroft look up to the ceiling for a moment before herding up the remaining Slytherins. “What was that about?’ John asked but Sherlock ignored him, marching forward out of the hall and to the left, up the first flight of stairs. 

John moved quickly, almost in a run to catch up to Sherlock. He thought maybe Sherlock was taking him to Ravenclaw tower, John didn’t particularly feel like going in to the dungeons to his dormitory if there was a troll moving around down there. 

Not that he really understood the significance of a troll being in the castle. At all. 

Finally when Sherlock turned down another hallway and they were on a moving staircase with no students around, John asked where they were going but was again met with silence. He took a deep breath, ready to nag Sherlock but his eyes landed on a portrait of a boy playing a flute and he gasped, spinning around and seeing the abandoned hallway. 

“Sherlock! What are we doing here?” John hissed, lowering his voice even though no one was around. 

Sherlock shot him a confused look, and John sighed. “I can’t keep up with you sometimes. I am not as brilliant as you.” 

Sherlock ducked his head and John saw the smile he was trying, and failing, to hide. He straightened his face and lifted his head up. “Did you see Quirrell?” Sherlock asked and John blinked, for someone who hated obvious questions and repetition Sherlock often employed those methods to explain his reasoning. 

“I know you heard him and saw him but did you see him?” John shook his head, knowing that even if he looked at Quirrell for two hours he still wouldn’t see what Sherlock saw in two seconds. “He was yelling about the Troll John. In the dungeon. Besides the fact that Trolls don’t live anywhere near these parts- A troll would not be able to get in anywhere from the basement, the only way in to the dungeons is through the front entrance or through a few secret passageways, none of which a troll could fit in.”

“Aren’t trolls tiny?” John asked, he thought trolls were only a couple feet high. 

Sherlock scowled at him and continued on. “John you really need to start learning the basics, you are a wizard and this ignorance is losing its charm. Trolls are gigantic. Don’t you think someone, especially during dinner rush hour, would have noticed a giant troll ambling through the halls? And yet, somehow, this troll walked through the front door and moseyed his way down in to the dungeons?” Sherlock paused. “No. Someone let that troll in John. Now who would let a troll in?”

John shrugged. “Mycroft?” 

Sherlock whipped his head to John, snorting at the boy and smiling. “No. Mycroft may be dangerous but he is far from stupid and he would never put students in danger for no reason.” Sherlock’s smile fell and he glided off the staircase, striding down the hallway, John following behind him. 

“So who did?” John asked, trotting to keep up with Sherlock. “You think its Quirrell?” 

Sherlock shot him a pleased look and continued on, passing the empty doorway and walking passed it, closer to the window at the end of the hallway. John noticed for the first time that there was a hallway to the right of the window, leading down another corridor. 

“Quirrell makes sense. He could have summoned the troll, he has the capabilities, he is the Defense against the Dark Arts professor and even though he has that awful stutter he is intelligent and well versed. He was a Ravenclaw and graduated top of his class when he went to Hogwarts. And it would explain why he was down there, because if it had been someone else- why would Quirrell have been in the dungeons in the first place? He rarely leaves his classroom, and if he does- only to eat and for Quidditch matches. But he was in the dungeon today, and missing supper- he rarely misses a meal. And yet this night, he misses a meal and just conveniently happens to be in the same place, same time as an impossibly sneaky, castle-invading troll?” Sherlock scoffed. 

“Brilliant!” John gushed, looking up at Sherlock in awe. “But what does that have to do with us being here?”

Sherlock hummed, looking around and stopping as he noticed a rather large closed door, with a brilliant looking knocker. “Motive John. Quirrell fits, he has the capabilities, he was the only one capable of doing it at the time, all of the professors were at supper, well the ones who have the ability to summon a troll anyway, and it explains why he was in the dungeons. But why would Quirrell bring a troll in to the castle?” Sherlock asked, turning to John. 

John shrugged. “Halloween trick?” He smiled but held up his hands as Sherlock opened his mouth. “I am guessing that you have been doing some investigating and whatever is behind this door is something important.” 

Sherlock nodded. “Exactly. Well. Not exactly, I am not positive what is on the other side of this door but somewhere on this floor is something worth protecting and I believe Quirrell let that troll in to the castle to distract everyone as he tried to get in.” 

John glanced at the door and rubbed the back of his neck, looking nervously down the hallway. “Are we just waiting for him then?” John asked hesitantly. 

Sherlock ignored him and they stood in silence for what felt like ages but was probably only five minutes. “He would have been here by now. Something must have happened.” Sherlock spun on his toe and turned to the door. “Want to find out what he’s after?” Sherlock asked. 

John scrunched his nose but he already knew he was going to agree. “Show me what’s behind door number one,” John said jovially gesturing towards the door with a big smile on his face, imitating a game show host. 

Sherlock shot him a confused look, looking at John as though he was the most bizarre creature in existence. John waved him off and pushed the door while twisting the elaborate knob. Sherlock rolled his eyes when the door didn’t budge. “Really John, did you think they would just leave the dangerous thing protecting the stone in an unlocked room?”

“We walked right to the door. And wait- what dangerous thing?” John asked, somewhat panicked as Sherlock pulled out his wand. 

“I am assuming it is something extremely visually frightening, something that would immediately intimidate someone who entered it.” Sherlock said calmly, whispering alohamora and the door clicked unlocked. 

“Great. Well. Here goes nothing.” John said, straightening his back. Sherlock nodded and swung the door open. About ten feet from them was a dog…with three heads…sleeping. John pursed his lips and Sherlock let out a soft “Oh.” And grabbed the door, slowly closing it. 

Once the view of the dog creature was cut off John turned slowly to Sherlock. “Are you intimidated?” he asked. Sherlock paused thinking. 

“Not particularly.”

John nodded. “Maybe one more look will do it.” John said, and he realized that he was insane in that moment, when he asked his friend to re-open a door so he could observe a three headed sleeping dog again. 

Of course as the door swung open this time the dog, or dogs, were no longer sleeping. Instead they were standing up, staring at Sherlock and John, a low growl emitting from one of the heads as the left most dog head bared its large teeth, drool falling from its jowls. 

“Intimidated?” Sherlock asked, voice much higher than usual. 

“Oh God yes.” John squeaked out and Sherlock and him grabbed the door, slamming it closed, sprinting away from the door as fast as they could. They ran around the corner and were both relieved to see the staircase waiting for them

As they hopped on and hung on to the railing they both erupted in laughter, John giggling uncontrollably, trying to catch his breath. “That. Was. Ridiculous.” 

“You’re the one that wanted a second look!” Sherlock shouted through his laughter, which made John giggle even harder. 

“I can’t believe we did that.” John said, laughter slowly dying down as the staircase stopped at some random floor. He really needed to begin learning his way around the castle better. 

“6th floor.” Sherlock pointed out and John nodded in thanks. The sound of footsteps made both John and Sherlock look and see Mycroft striding towards them, an unhappy look on his face. “Did you catch your breath?” Sherlock asked and John smiled, answering by racing down the hallway in the opposite direction of Mycroft, Sherlock laughing as he followed him.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock spoke so casually, so matter-of-factly that John couldn’t comprehend it. “Don’t you care?”
> 
> “About?” Sherlock asked in a bored tone. 
> 
> “The fact that someone is trying to kill Harry Potter?” John hissed.

**

The excitement of the Troll and the tale of how Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley conquered it ran rampant through the school and it was all anyone could talk about. Except Sherlock, who scoffed when he heard about the vanquishing of the troll. 

“Honestly, heroic. More like idiotic. Why would someone chase after the troll?” Sherlock grumbled as him and John walked to charms together. 

“Uhhh…did you forget about the forbidden forest or both times that we went in the forbidden corridor? Or how about the three headed dog that we stared down?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “yes well those excursions had an important purpose.” 

John shot Sherlock a confused look. “I heard they went after the troll to protect Hermione.” 

Sherlock grunted, waiving his hand. “Yes well it doesn’t matter- while they were off risking their lives,” Sherlock said that part so disdainfully that John bit his lip to stop from laughing, “we were able to find out valuable information. “ 

“Like the fact that there is a three headed dog guarding something?” John said.

“Exactly John.” Sherlock said, pleased, rubbing his hands together. “Something that Quirrell wants.” 

“Any theories?” asked John as they approached the classroom. 

“Eight at the moment.” Sherlock cocked his head, “you?” 

John walked in the classroom, nodding to his classmates as he sat in his seat, Sherlock sitting beside him. “Nothing. Although if I had to guess-“

“Don’t guess John. Guessing makes you twist facts to fit in to theories instead of making theories based on all the facts.” 

John nodded, although he barely understood the difference. Flitwick tapped his wand to call the class to order and Sherlock sighed, turning from John to pay attention to the class. 

**

“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with Sherlock- all going well?” Mike asked as he caught up with John leaving the Great Hall. John nodded, adjusting his backpack and heading to the first floor for defense against the dark arts. 

“Yeah.” John said smiling and Mike clapped him on the back. 

“Great to hear it mate- and I am glad to see you walking around and in good spirits. Are you going home for the Holidays? I bet Harry would want to see you right?” 

John grimaced, he doubted that. “I don’t know, might just be easier to stay, we’ll see.” 

Mike nodded. “Well I-m off to class-let me know if Sherlock gets out of line.” Mike said before making a left to go up the staircases another level. John nearly laughed, he highly doubted Sherlock would listen to anything Mike had to say but the thought was nice. 

John ambled his way to Defense against the Dark Arts, a class that he didn’t have with Sherlock, but instead had with just his fellow Hufflepuffs. He walked in, sitting beside Ernie MacMillan who shot him a grin and punched his arm lightly. 

“How’s it going Watson- you excited for the match?” 

“Of course, I never saw a Quidditch match before.” John said, shrugging but looking forward to it. 

“You’re in for a treat, you will love it!” Ernie said smiling happily, launching in to a riveting tale of the last quidditch match him and his cousins had played. 

“Oi! And its Gryffindor and Slytherin so you know it will be nasty.” Sneered Justin. 

“I think its pretty horrible what Draco Malfoy has those Slytherins saying about Harry.” Hannah said softly from beside Justin. “I just hope he doesn’t get hurt.” 

Justin shot her an incredulous look. “Are you serious? It’s Quidditch- EVERYONE gets hurt! Besides, if he was afraid of getting hurt he shouldn’t have shown off the way he did.” Justin said, shrugging. 

They had all heard the tale, although John had learned- mostly through Sherlock’s disdainful comments and disbelief- that stories tended to get outlandish and extreme once they spread through the school. From what John was able to pick apart from the absurd stories was that Harry Potter had demonstrated phenomenal Quidditch skills his first lesson out, Professor McGonagall had taken note and he ended up the youngest quidditch player in 100 years. 

John shuddered as he thought of his own first quidditch lesson. Sherlock still laughed about it. 

“Lay off him, I for one hope the Gryffindors steam roll the Slytherins. I would hate to see our lads play against the slimy gits.” Ernie said and then began a discussion about quidditch strategy with Justin. John would have joined in, if he had anything interesting or noteworthy to contribute. As it was he barely understood his classes, he didn’t yet have time to get in to Quidditch. Maybe after winter break. 

Quirrell cleared his throat and the class settled down. “N-n-now Class, we, we will be r-r-reviewing-“ 

John tuned out Quirrell’s voice and instead tried to observe him the way that Sherlock would. Sherlock had urged him, to observe as much as he possibly could about Quirrell in his lesson and then report it back to him. 

Sherlock was still trying to figure out what was underneath the three headed dog, and what Quirrell could possibly want with it, whatever it was. Sherlock had flopped himself all over the library the last time John was studying, complaining that someone as boring as Quirrell was taking up all his time. 

“There is nothing particularly noteworthy about him- It’s so clever- why is it clever- because he is unassuming, no one suspects poor stuttering Quirrell. He was brilliant as a student you know, of course he would be coming out of Ravenclaw, although you’d be surprised with the amount of idiots there are. But no, Quirrell was smart, he had a job, but then he goes on Sabbatical to Austria, comes back and changes classes- no longer the Muggle Studies professor and now the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor- quite a strange leap. What could prompt the change, why the change?” Sherlock would continue speaking in long dialogues like that, at John, but John honestly had no idea if Sherlock even realized he was there. 

The one time John had asked him why his presence was even needed, Sherlock had simply rolled his eyes, waving a hand in his direction, “Mummy wouldn’t let me bring my skull, thought it would prevent me from making friends.” Sherlock spit the word out but then continued to mutter about Quirrell. 

But John couldn’t figure anything out from the man. He looked normal to John, well normal for a wizard of course. And the turban was a bit odd to see on such a pale, gaunt figure; it seemed to make his head look particularly large and heavy, as if he would topple over. John snorted in to his hand as the image of Quirrell just falling over from the weight of his head came to him and Ernie shot him an amused glance. 

John shook his head and decided he would be better off focusing, Sherlock was the one that was good at observing anyway. 

**

After class John trudged up to the library, eager to get started on the essay that Professor McGonagall had assigned. He began working on it and he actually made great progress, already three fourths of the way through the assignment when Sherlock flopped down in the chair in front of him. 

“I don’t understand why we must listen to an hour long lecture about the proper technique of performing a spell before we can perform it.” Sherlock grabbed John’s parchment, ignoring his indignant cry and read over it. “I see Professor McGonagall has you doing the same mundane task, it’s turning matchsticks into needles, it’s not difficult!” Sherlock threw the parchment back at John in disgust. 

John rolled his eyes, straightening out the roll of parchment. “Yeah well, some of us can’t just think it, will it, and then boom it happens. We all aren’t as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes.” 

Sherlock blew out air from his mouth and gave John a bored look. “John, you could easily turn this table in to ten swords if you really wanted to.” John paused, eyes widening in shock. Sherlock rarely complimented him, and while John wasn’t positive that was a compliment, he was going to take it as one. 

“Now, tell me what you observed with Quirrell, and don’t leave anything out.” Sherlock ordered, sitting up slightly and leaning in to focus on John. 

John shrugged, wishing he could have basked in Sherlock’s compliment a little longer before he inevitably ripped him apart for failing to observe anything of use. “Nothing out of sorts, he was just as stuttering as he usually is, and his robes were cleaned, no wrinkles. His hands were washed, he wrung them around a lot, but I guess that is just normal behavior for a nervous person. “ John looked up and Sherlock was still looking at him expectantly. “I did get this mental image of him toppling over from the weight of his own head, the turban makes his head look three times the size of a normal bloke’s. And I have seen plenty of men wear turbans, but none made their heads look so large, have you noticed that?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, no doubt to rip in to John for his elementary observations before his eyes went wide, “Oh!” he whispered, shocked as he sat back, eyes looking at some point beyond John. 

Suddenly he smiled at John. “You may not be the smartest but you give me the greatest thoughts!” Sherlock exclaimed, and a group of sixth year Slytherins at the table besides them started snickering. John blushed and Madam Pince shushed everyone. 

“You’re absolutely right John. I had noticed that something wasn’t quite right with his appearance and I couldn’t put my finger on it. But his turban, oh his turban, you are so clever John.” John would be lying if he said he didn’t sit up straighter and preen at the words. “Quirrell claims he got the turban as a gift from a vampire or something, I brushed it off as useless information when I first heard it, but it is peculiar isn’t it. Why would a vampire have a turban in the first place, and since when is a turban a gift? Bit odd- it’s odd- why is it odd?” Sherlock trailed off, John recognizing the look of Sherlock going to his mind palace. 

He sighed, a small smile on his face as he turned back to his essay, deciding to finish as much as he could before Sherlock tried to make him dash off somewhere. 

**

John was putting the final touches on his essay when Sherlock finally snapped to attention. “I need to go.” Sherlock jumped from his seat, straightening his robes and turning towards the door, hesitating for a moment as he turned back to the table, “Well?” he asked impatiently. 

“Oh! Right.” John threw all of his books and parchment in to his bag haphazardly, although he did take the time to make sure his inkpot was properly sealed. The last thing he wanted was to write Harry a letter asking her to send some money so that he could exchange it and buy new books. Besides he was on one of his last inkpots, he didn’t know how Mycroft knew but he had broken a number of inkpots when he had been learning the levitating spell. 

John rushed after Sherlock, who was striding down the hallway towards the stairs. “Where are we going?” John asked as they stopped at the staircase well. Almost immediately after Sherlock arrived a staircase was moving towards them. John shook his head in amazement, it never failed that whenever Sherlock was at the staircases they came immediately, meanwhile had it been just John he would have been waiting for who knows how long. 

They continued to go down the stairs until they reached the floor for the Hufflepuff common room. “I already told you Sherlock- I am not showing you-“

“Don’t insult my intelligence John. That is not our destination.” John pursed his lips but continued to follow after Sherlock. 

Eventually they reached a portrait of fruit. “Uhhh, why exactly are we-“ John trailed off as Sherlock tickled a pear and the door portrait swung open, revealing a number of weird looking creatures all bustling around. John gaped in amazement as it appeared the odd little things were…cooking. 

Sherlock strode forward and almost immediately one of the creatures moved towards him. Sherlock handed him something, but John couldn’t see and the creature nodded vigorously before poofing away. 

“Wha-“

“Come along John.” Sherlock said as he quickly moved out of the kitchen room and back in to the hallway. 

John stood for a moment, still confused and one of the creatures approached him. “Would Master Watson like some cookings?” 

John looked down at the plate that the creature was holding out and shrugged before grabbing a pastry. “Thanks.” He said, and then the creature bowed and John decided it was time to find Sherlock and get some answers. 

Sherlock was waiting for him outside the portrait, twirling his wand rapidly while staring at the stone in front of him. “Houselves. I sometimes forget that you aren’t used to certain things.” 

John shot him a disbelieving look. He knew well as Sherlock did that Sherlock loved surprising John and found these moments of ignorance hilarious, when he wasn’t complaining about them. Sherlock smirked and nodded his head, gesturing back the way they came. 

“Let’s go see if we can turn sticks in to needles.” 

John shook his head, pointing his hand, which happened to still be holding the pastry, at Sherlock. “No, you have to tell me what that was!” John said. 

Sherlock sighed, sounding put off but he turned back to John, pointing to the pastry in his hand. “Hardly a weapon John, you have a wand for a reason.” 

“I am not going to jinx you just to get you to tell me something.” But John would throw a pastry at him and Sherlock seemed to realize that, quickly grabbing the sweet from John’s hand and taking a bite of it. “Git.” John said, continuing to watch Sherlock, waiting for an explanation. 

“Like I said houselves. They take care of the castle, cleaning, cooking, they see everything and yet no one ever thinks about them. They are the best eyes and ears one can have.” 

John gaped. “So you use them as spies?” 

Sherlock finished the pastry in one bite and shrugged. “I prefer the term informants, spies is a muggle term and far too romantic.” Sherlock huffed, “Now, lets go and practice for transfiguration otherwise you will be moody and of no use to me.”

Sherlock spun around and walked down the hall and John, not for the first time wondered what he was doing as he followed the boy. 

**

Turns out that John could turn matchsticks in to needles, rather easily, especially with Sherlock showing him how to do it. 

John was quite glad that Sherlock was his partner in his classes, otherwise he imagined he would be a bit of a mess, kind of like the Longbottom boy that always got teased. 

Not that John would ever tease him, and he actually quite liked him from his brief interactions in herbology and other classes. 

The second week of November came and with it the long anticipated Gryffindor v. Slytherin quidditch match. The whole school was buzzing with excitement, even the teachers, with the exception of Snape, Sherlock and Mycroft. 

Sherlock had rolled his eyes and tried to argue, unsuccessfully when John told him they were going to watch the game. “I have watched Quidditch before John, and while I normally enjoy the strategy and athleticism, these are foolish children and-“

“You are a foolish child.” John pointed out, throwing his quill at Sherlock from across the table. Sherlock had looked at the quill from where it bounced off his arm and landed on the table and then glanced back at John. 

“I am not going. And you’re lucky you didn’t get ink on my robes.” Sherlock sniffed. 

“Come on Sherlock, it might be interesting.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “it could be good intel anyway, didn’t you say you wanted to observe Quirrell in all situations. Besides, you always tell me that I am ignorant of what is going on around me, Quidditch might be a waste of time, but not to most people in this school and it could be a great motivator for people.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slowly, his lips thinning as he stared at John. “Hm.” Sherlock then smiled softly. “I seem to have rubbed off on you John. That was a somewhat logical argument. Fine. We will go to the match.”

And so that was why Sherlock and John were currently huddled together on the bleachers, sitting beside each other trying to keep warm. Luckily neither of their teams were playing so they didn’t have to worry about disapproving looks for mingling together. Then again John had a feeling Sherlock wouldn’t have cared what people said if it was Ravenclaw v. Hufflepuff game and he was standing in the Hufflepuff stands decked out in canary yellow and black. 

John snorted at the mental image and waved Sherlock off when he looked towards him. “I will not be going to the match in two weeks. Don’t even get it in your head- this will be the last one.” Sherlock remarked. 

“But, that’s the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff game isn’t it?” Sherlock shrugged, eyes scanning across the pitch to where the professors were seated. 

“Why would that matter?” Sherlock asked. “Its not as though either of us are playing. And I know you don’t think I care about the points.” 

John sighed and cheered with the rest of his house as the game began, ignoring Sherlock’s un-amused glance. “You don’t even know why you are cheering.” Sherlock pointed out throughout the match as John cheered along. 

“Yeah well I am not a complete moron, thanks. I am getting the gist of it.” Sherlock snorted and continued his obsessive watch over Quirrell. 

John had to admit that he could understand why Ernie loved quidditch, it was intoxicating. The game was fast moving and made his heart race with adrenaline as students zipped around on brooms, the beaters sending bludgers at other students and the seekers keeping watch over the whole pitch. 

“What’s wrong with Harry’s broom?” Asked someone. 

“That’s what they get for letting a first year play, bloke can’t even control his broom!” Shouted someone else. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he watched the boy jerk around in the sky, he looked back at the professors booth and smirked. “Quirrell.” He hissed and John squinted trying to see what Sherlock saw. Sherlock noticed John’s confused glance and he grabbed the binoculars off of the lap of a Hufflepuff girl, pointing towards Harry Potter. 

John looked through the lenses, giving Sherlock an exasperated look that was ignored. He saw Quirrell staring at Harry Potter intently, his lips moving slightly, but he also saw Professor Snape staring at the boy, doing the same. 

He turned to Sherlock. “Professor Snape would never be so dull. If he wanted to kill Harry Potter there are far easier ways to do it. No. This is Quirrell trying to be clever.” Sherlock almost smiled but John shot him a warning glare and the boy straightened out his face. 

“Shouldn’t we do something?” John hissed, watching as Harry almost fell off his broom, grasping it with one hand. 

Sherlock shrugged in an absent-minded way, and John guessed that Sherlock was in his mind palace, ignoring him. John was about to storm away, cross the pitch and shake the professors or something but he noticed a commotion across the pitch. Snape’s robes were caught on fire and Quirrell got distracted, breaking eye contact and Harry was able to swing his body back on to his broom. 

He went on to quickly catch the snitch and the pitch went wild, minus the Slytherin spectators. 

“Hey! Are those mine?” Shrieked the girl beside Sherlock, she glared at John and he smiled sheepishly, handing them over. She grabbed them from his hands, sneering at him and flounced away with her friends, angrily discussing the rudeness of first years to her friends. 

“Not the best way to make friends.” Sherlock commented, trying not to laugh. John shot him a warning look and stood up. 

“Don’t start with me.” The two made their way off the pitch with the rest of the school, pausing for a moment as Sherlock saw some type of mushroom that he insisted they have to stop for. “Since when do you care about mushrooms?” John asked, exasperated with his friend after the match and his antics. 

Sherlock ignored him. John fumed, thought about storming away, but instead sat down on the cold ground beside his wonky friend. Sherlock launched in to a discussion about the different types of mushrooms and their magical properties and John fought to stay awake as the sky darkened. 

“Aren’t you glad you came.” John mentioned, during a break in Sherlock’s monologue. “To the match.” John clarified. 

“It was certainly interesting. Although I haven’t figured out why Quirrell wanted to kill Harry Potter.” Sherlock said glowering at the bag he had filled with mushrooms. 

“Any theories?” 

“Hmmmm. A few.” Sherlock said, turning away from the mushrooms finally and looking at John. “I would know more if he had succeeded, but I’m sure his next attempt will be enlightening.” 

John’s mouth dropped open. “What? Next time?” 

Sherlock tucked his bag in to his robes, pulling his gloves back on his hands. “Of course. He attempted to kill the boy who lived,” Sherlock said mockingly, “in front of everyone. He obviously wants him dead, so much so that one failed attempt will not deter him.” 

Sherlock spoke so casually, so matter-of-factly that John couldn’t comprehend it. “Don’t you care?”

“About?” Sherlock asked in a bored tone. 

“The fact that someone is trying to kill Harry Potter?” John hissed. 

Sherlock snorted, standing up and holding out a hand for John. “No. The only reason people know his name is because someone tried to kill him, its hardly novel.” John snapped his mouth shut, ignoring Sherlock’s offered hand as he lifted himself up. 

“You’re annoyed with me.” Sherlock said, sounding both surprised and offended. 

John opened his mouth but thought better and shook his head. “Let’s just get back to the castle, too much excitement for one day.” 

“Wrong.” Sherlock said as they began walking. “You can never have too much excitement, you love excitement.” 

John rolled his eyes as they walked. “Yeah well,” he waved his arms and trailed off. 

Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and stopped him from walking. “Look.” He said pointing in front of them. They watched as Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter walked out of Hagrid’s hut, wishing the groundskeeper a good day. 

“Hmm” Sherlock said as they began walking again, far enough that they didn’t look suspicious but close enough that they could catch every other word or so. John felt the little flutter in his belly that developed whenever he was breaking the rules or doing something he probably shouldn’t. 

“Heard….Hagrid….Fluffy…..Snape…” Sherlock rolled his eyes and John bit a chuckle. John could barely understand what was being said but Sherlock seemed riveted. “Dumbledore…….Flammel……Fluffy…”

Sherlock stopped abruptly, his eyes wide and his mouth open in the face that John recognized as his “I am brilliant I just discovered it!” 

Sherlock turned to John excitedly. “The philosophers stone!” he whispered excitedly. John stared at him blankly. “Oh John! The philosophers stone, that is what Fluffy is guarding!” Sherlock said, buzzing with excitement. 

John stared at him. “Nicholas Flammel John, he created the philosophers stone. Hagrid told them that whatever Fluffy is guarding is between him, Dumbledore and Nicholas Flammel! The Philosophers stone is being guarded by the three-headed-dog. Headmaster Dumbledore must have known that someone was going to steal it, hence why he had Hagrid take it out of Gringotts the day before the break in.” 

John blinked twice. “You heard all of that?” 

Sherlock paused. “What? No. I heard them say its between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flammel. And lots of talk about Fluffy. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that creature could only come from Hagrid. And the forbidden corridor hasn’t always been forbidden, only this year, Mycroft, told me. Something gets hidden, a corridor gets forbidden, and there is an attempted break-in at Gringotts all within the same week, the only thing that makes sense is the philosophers stone.” 

John raised his eyebrows but Sherlock continued on. “Which means that Quirrell was behind the unicorn killings.” 

“What!? How is that possible?” John gasped, he had almost completely forgotten about the unicorn death. 

“The Stone John, it gives the wizard who harnesses its properties immunity to everything. The user would become immortal. Unicorn blood, when consumed will keep someone alive although it curses the person, only a person truly wicked would drink it.” 

“So you think Quirrell was drinking from the Unicorns and is now after immortality?” 

Sherlock shook his head. “No, absolutely not.”

“But you just said,”

“Yes, I know what I said. Just because Quirrell is after the stone and murdering unicorns does not mean that he is or plans on ingesting anything.” John furrowed his eyebrows, but Sherlock held his hand out to prevent him from asking questions. “Quirrell is a very clever man, he was an excellent student and is a decent professor, when he isn’t stuttering. But the stuttering, from what Mycroft tells me, is a new feature, only developed since he has been back from Austria. A professor leaves, comes back a year later, with a stutter, a suspiciously large turban that he NEVER takes off or washes, and demands to be switched to the Defense against the Dark Arts position, sets a troll in the school, slays unicorns and tries to kill Harry Potter.”

John was lost and confused, which wasn’t a new emotion around Sherlock but he was particularly thrown off by Sherlock’s sporadic thought process this time. 

“Think John! People who want to live forever want to live forever because they have things to live for. And no I don’t mean just love, I mean family, power, wealth, success, those are things that people want never ending supplies of. But look at Quirrell, he his a nervous wreck constantly, he has no family, he is never happy, people ridicule him, he isn’t particularly wealthy and besides his intelligence he isn’t successful. What would Qirrell want to live for eternity for?” 

John shrugged. “Maybe he is afraid of dying.” John suggested. 

“If he was afraid of dying he wouldn’t have frolicked with vampires, although I doubt that is an accurate tale. A man who is afraid of dying does not take risks like letting a troll loose under the nose of the most brilliant wizard in Great Britain, nor does he try to kill the Boy Who Lived in front of a thousand witnesses. No. He has nothing to live for and it isn’t a fear of dying that is motivating him. Someone else is pulling the strings.” 

“Yeah but you just said that an attempt on Potter’s life isn’t exactly something shocking. He’s apparently famous for sending away that man whose name I don’t even know because no one ever says it.” John pointed out and Sherlock turned to him quickly. 

“What? Repeat that.” 

“An attempt on-“

“No after that, he is famous for-“

“Sending away that-“

“Sending away. Why did you say sending away? Why didn’t you say killing him?” Sherlock demanded, grabbing John’s shoulders and staring in to his eyes. 

“I don’t know, I never heard the full story but from what I have heard he tried to kill Potter and then he just disappeared, people say he is dead but a body or remains were never found.” 

Sherlock released John and rubbed his hands together. “Oh John. You are brilliant. I have been saying it for years of course, I was always irritated that no one found Voldemort’s lack of remains telling. But I was always told to stop speaking, lest someone think me a skeptic or an evil wizard.” 

“So why am I brilliant?” John asked. 

“Voldemort! You said it yourself John, he was sent away, to parts unknown- assumed dead because no one had heard from him again. But people that disappear can come back. And think about it, if he came back he would be weak, why else would he have hid for eleven somewhat years? And someone who is weak and possibly dying-”

“Would ingest unicorn blood and someone like Voldemort wouldn’t really care about a little curse I am assuming.”

Sherlock nodded. “Exactly. But why stop there- if there is a way to stay immortal without continuously cursing oneself, why not do it that way?” 

“So Quirrell is working for Voldemort?” John asked. 

Sherlock smiled, rubbing his hands together and pausing, for dramatic effect. “No. I think he is Voldemort.” 

If John’s life was a movie, and it certainly felt like it lately, this would be the time where the camera would show their serious and shocked faces, the music would go dramatic and a new scene would be shown. 

But John was left, looking confused and probably like a gaping fish. Finally he bucked up. “He’s awfully young isn’t he…and….Voldemort stutters?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “No. John you said it yourself, again, another bit of brilliance- don’t run it- Quirrell wears a rather large turban, much larger than the traditional type worn in these parts. And he never takes it off. Sleeps in it and everything. The houselves have never once washed it.” 

“So you think that Quirrell is hiding Voldemort on his person?” John asked, scratching the back of his neck. “Seems a bit strange.” 

Sherlock nodded. “It is the only theory that fits.” 

John looked over his shoulder as he saw an owl soar passed them, and he noticed Hagrid exiting his hut. “We should probably get moving, Hagrid is coming this way.” Sherlock nodded and they continued walking. “I am confused though, why Voldemort?” 

“Who else would care so much about the death of Harry Potter? Who else would have the type of influence to join life forces with someone? From what I have heard, Voldemort had an immeasurable amount of influence.” 

“Bit late for ya two ter be out. Don’ wan’ a miss the feast!” Hagrid’s booming voice came from behind them and John jumped in shock as Sherlock smiled charmingly at him. 

“I was just gathering mushrooms- my Puffskein loves them.” Sherlock said and John swallowed the what he wanted to blurt out when Sherlock shot him a wink. 

Hagrid and Sherlock then began discussing puffskeins and the benefits of them, although Hagrid preferred bigger creatures, apparently Fang, his one headed dog, was scared to death of puffskeins. 

John and Sherlock went to their respective tables for dinner and John joined in discussions with his classmates about the quidditch pitch. He told Ernie and Justin that he would definitely go to the next match with them and they began discussing the rules that John had yet to understand. 

All the while his mind was racing with immortal stones, unicorn blood, Quirrell and a faceless thing under Quirrel’s turban. 

**


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to get the stone.” Sherlock said finally and John blinked, trying to figure out if he had missed something. He looked around, nope, they were still in the packed library, surrounded by students all trying to finish up last minute holiday assignments. 
> 
> “What?” John asked. “Are you suggesting we go and get the stone ourselves?” 
> 
> “Obviously.” Sherlock drawled.

**

“No.” Sherlock said, arms crossed as he glared at Mycroft. John walked up to the two, still unaware how Sherlock and Mycroft knew each other, although he was beginning to think they were related. 

“Sherlock.” Mycroft said in that long suffering way that only siblings could accomplish. John recognized that tone, definitely brothers. 

“You’re his brother.” John pointed out and both Holmes’ raised their eyebrows at him, and John had no idea how he didn’t recognize the disdainful resemblance earlier. 

“What are your plans for the holidays Mr. Watson?” Mycroft asked, tone slightly teasing. 

John shrugged. “I figured I would just kip here.” 

Mycroft smiled slowly. “We wouldn’t want you to be here all alone John. I insist you come home with us for the Holidays. Mummy will be so delighted to meet Sherlock’s friend.” 

John opened his mouth but paused, glancing to Sherlock but the boy was staring at him indifferently. Sherlock caught John’s gaze and must have assumed that John was looking for a way out because he scowled at Mycroft. 

“I am not coming home. I am staying here.” Sherlock said. 

“And what could you possibly do here? You will be in to some sort of trouble within a day, driven by boredom.” 

“Yes and how is that any different from if I went home?” 

“At least there will be people to watch you”

“I have John!” Sherlock sneered, pointing at John. 

Mycroft smirked. “Ah yes, because John has been so good at keeping you out of trouble. For goodness sake you went through the forbidden forest the first day you met, and then have been through the forbidden corridor twice.” 

John had no idea how Mycroft knew that, he highly doubted Sherlock had told him. “How did you-“

“Tell Mummy that I want to spend the holidays with my friend in the castle.” Sherlock said with finality. 

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before straightening his back. “No, brother dear, tell her yourself.” 

The two boys watched Mycroft walk down the hallway and out of sight. “Why don’t you want to go home for the holidays?” John asked. 

Sherlock began to walk in the direction of the library and John followed him. “Without my Hufflepuff voice of reasoning? Never.” 

John rolled his eyes and entered the library, finding their familiar table and sitting down, spreading out his books and parchment. Sherlock did the same across from him, the end of the fall term was time consuming and the workload was heavy for everyone, even Sherlock Holmes. 

After an hour or so, filled with only the sound of the occasional cough, shushing from Madame Pince and the sound of quills scratching on parchment, John put his quill down, cracking his fingers. Sherlock shivered, and John whispered out a quick apology. The other boy despised the sound of knuckles cracking, for whatever reason. 

“Any luck in the investigation?” John asked, trying to distract himself from his studies for a moment. Sherlock grunted but stopped writing. 

“The houselves have been unable to gather any evidence.” Sherlock said. “And since we were equally as unsuccessful, we only have one option left.” John shook his head at the reminder of their unsuccessful attempt at investigating Quirrell. They had snuck in to Quirell’s private quarters during the Hufflepuff Ravenclaw quidditch match. John had bemoaned the fact that they were missing such an exciting match but Sherlock had reasoned that everyone would be at the pitch and it would be the perfect time. 

John had protested up until Sherlock had said he was going whether John did or not. 

But it was for naught because they found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Not even Sherlock found incriminating evidence. “I wasn’t surprised, Quirrell is clever.” Sherlock said as they walked out of his quarters. 

“Did you just make me miss the match when you knew we wouldn’t find anything?” John asked, irritated as he watched his fellow students pour in to the Great Hall, faces flushed with excitement and still whooping over the match. 

Sherlock had shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “I wasn’t sure there wouldn’t be anything.” 

“Right- me too- I was really expecting a giant sign- Voldemort lives here!” John shouted in a whisper while Sherlock chuckled beside him. 

“Always so dramatic.” 

John scoffed, pointing at himself. “Me? Dramatic? I am the dramatic one?” John had thrown his arms up in the air and stormed away.

“Dramatic.” Sherlock called after him. 

John did not speak to him for two days. 

But now they were left at a dead end, they had no proof that Quirrell was associating with Voldemort and was after the stone. And Sherlock assured John that no one would believe them if they told anyone. “Do you think this is the first time I have solved something?” Sherlock had said to him one night when John asked if they should just go to Dumbledore. 

“Well-“

“No. Besides, then we would be taken off the case and someone incompetent would have to finish it. It would be better if we did it ourselves.” 

John had refrained from pointing out that they were eleven years old, and not exactly competent and able to take down a fully trained professor let alone a dark wizard. But John could sense from Sherlock’s tone that arguing would be in vain so he had quieted and asked how he could help. 

That was weeks ago, now it was nearing the holidays and they weren’t any closer to figuring out how to prove Quirrell was harboring Voldemort. 

“We need to get the stone.” Sherlock said finally and John blinked, trying to figure out if he had missed something. He looked around, nope, they were still in the packed library, surrounded by students all trying to finish up last minute holiday assignments. 

“What?” John asked. “Are you suggesting we go and get the stone ourselves?” 

“Obviously.” Sherlock drawled. 

John pursed his lips, wiggling his fingers on the tabletop. “And what do you suppose we do about the three headed dog blocking the way?” he hissed out. 

“While you have been busy doing assignments, I have been figuring out how to get the stone. And we are doing it once everyone leaves for the Holidays.” Sherlock said resolutely. 

John shook his head, “no, no Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed loudly, causing the librarian to glare at them and John shot her a sheepish look. “We both know you are going to say yes. Now I have things to do, one of which is writing to Mummy,” Sherlock scowled as he gathered his school supplies. “You dwell and talk yourself out of it today and tomorrow and then the day after be ready to get the stone. No one will be here, it will be perfect.” 

Sherlock grinned and walked out of the library. John barely resisted slamming his head on the table. 

**

John sighed as he re-read Harry’s letter, the handwriting getting particularly sloppy as she thanked him for leaving her alone for the holidays. “Oi Watson, you staying here then?” asked Ernie as the students milled around the warm common room, getting ready to leave. 

“Yeah, don’t fancy dealing with my sister.” He said. None of his housemates really understood what it was like having a sister that hated him. Or if they did, they did it just as well as he did. 

“Well, at least you will have Holmes to keep you company? I heard a few Gryffindors are staying behind as well.” Ernie threw his back across his shoulder and patted John on the shoulder. “And I also heard that they give the out the best meals and deserts during the winter break.” 

“Something to look forward to then.” John said, smiling at Ernie. 

Professor Sprout entered the common room. “Alright students, all those leaving for the holidays please leave your luggage outside the dormitory entrance and make your way up to the carriages. And please, enjoy your holidays, get some rest and be safe!” She smiled and the students all whooped and thanked her, happy to be on a break from studies. 

“That is my cue. I will see you around Watson, Happy Christmas.” Ernie said. 

“Ta, same to you.” John watched as his classmates filed out of the common room, giggling and talking to each other about their holiday plans. John took a moment after they had all left to just sit in the common room, enjoying the silence. 

“Oh John, how are you dear?” John smiled up at Professor Sprout and looked at her cheery, yet concerned demeanor. 

“I am doing well thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.” She smiled at him, her hair crazy but her eyes warm. “I am sorry I haven’t been around much to help you in your transition, but from what I have heard all of the professors are very impressed with your work so far.” 

John beamed, happy to hear that he was doing well because he often felt like he had no idea what he was doing. “Thank you, that is good to hear.” 

She looked at him for a moment longer before nodding once. “Well then, I best be off, I have to go make sure all the students make it to the station in one piece.” 

John waved goodbye but then paused, an idea coming to him. “Do all the professors have to do that, or did you draw the short straw?” 

Professor Sprout chuckled. “No, we all like to go,” she paused before she left the doorway, “between me and you, we all like to get together and have a drink in Hogsmeade without any students around. We are people too you know.” She laughed and left the common room and John waited three minutes before he jumped up, making sure his wand was safely in his pocket before he grabbed a sheet of paper and a quill. 

He scribbled a quick note and dashed out of the common room. He ran up the stairs and reached the Great Hall, watching as the last of the students and Professors trickled out. He walked casually across the hall, to the grand staircase bank and waited impatiently for a staircase to arrive. 

He still had no idea how Sherlock was able to get one to come seemingly on command. 

Finally one came and he bounded up it, recognizing it as the one with the trick step and jumping over it, barely allowing the next staircase to stop moving before he leaped on that one as well. 

Eventually he reached the owlry and he handed his note to Hound. “Make sure Sherlock gets this- and quickly please. Thank you.” John said, watching as Hound took the note and flew off. 

“Right,” John muttered to himself and then ran back down the staircase, heading to the third corridor to wait for Sherlock and possibly get expelled. 

**

“Why are you changing the plan?” Sherlock asked as he glided on to the corridor from the stairs. 

“Professor Sprout said that all of the professors, or most of them, go with the students to the train and then get a drink together in Hogsmeade. I figured now would be better, and besides didn’t you tell me that it was better to do things during the day when no one would suspect it?” 

Sherlock smiled, looking impressed. “Very good John.” 

Together they walked to the door, where Fluffy stood behind, sleeping or growling, they didn’t know. John coughed, his nerves bubbling within him and he couldn’t help but bounce on his feet. “I am hoping you figured out how to get passed the dog.” John said. 

Sherlock didn’t answer but reached in to his robe pocket, digging around before pulling out what appeared to be a violin case. “One day you are going to have to tell me how to do that never-ending pocket trick.”

“It is not a trick John. It’s magic.” 

John nodded, deciding to let it go and instead pointed to the case. “What are you going to do with that?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pulled his instrument out of the case, handing the case to John and then grabbing the bow as well. “I am going to play it obviously.” 

“That’s it- that is your plan? Play the dog some music on your violin? Can you even play the violin?” 

Sherlock paused, turning to John and staring at him for a long moment. “John do you trust me? Because if you don’t trust me-“

“Of course I trust you, ya git. I have trusted you since I first followed you in to the forbidden forest. That doesn’t mean I am going to blindly follow you no matter what you do, I am going to ask questions, that you will have to answer, and you will answer them, and then we will go do whatever ruddy plan you come up with. And I will do, whatever you tell me to do as long as you explain why I have to do it.”

Sherlock was obviously not expecting John’s answer or a speech but instead of responding he simply nodded his head, gesturing at the door. “I am going to need you to unlock the door. Then I will begin playing, music soothes Fluffy, puts him right to sleep. We will then have to open the trap door and go in. Of Course I will wake fluffy up when I stop playing to put my violin in its case-“

John opened his mouth, “Non-negotiable John, this is a Stradivarius, and to answer your question- I have been playing the violin since I was three. Are you ready?”

John straightened up and nodded his head, tucking the violin case under one arm and putting his wand out in the other. He paused, wand ready to unlock the door as he stared at Sherlock waiting for the go-ahead. 

“Oh and John?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yes?”

Sherlock licked his lips, the first time John ever saw him do something that someone would consider a nervous tick. “I trust you as well, with my life.” 

John beamed and Sherlock nodded towards the door. John whispered the spell to unlock the door and then Sherlock began playing a soothing melody as John slowly pushed the door open. It was amazing, watching as the dogs’ eyes slowly drifted close, its heads drooping and resting down on their paws. 

John couldn’t blame them, the music coming from Sherlock was entrancing and nothing short of beautiful. John had never been one for classical music but he could definitely see the appeal in it now. He walked over to the trap door, thankful that the dogs didn’t fall asleep on top of it and he lifted it up. 

He looked down- there was just black space and John took a deep breath, looking over at Sherlock who simply shrugged and nodded to the case in John’s arms. John held out the case and Sherlock put the bow in, taking care to slip it delicately in its place. He somehow continued to simultaneously pluck on the string, holding up the instrument with his chin and shoulder, his left hand plucking out some melody. 

Eventually the bow was in place and Sherlock took a breath, locking eyes with John before quickly moving the violin, placing it quickly but gently in its resting spot. John smacked the lid shut and Sherlock clicked the locks in place, shoving it in his deep pocket before motioning to the trap door. 

John heard the sound of one of the dogs yawning and he didn’t hesitate to jump down the trap door, hoping that whatever was down there was soft and not going to break his legs. 

His hope came true and while he landed hard on something, it wasn’t stone; it seemed to be some cushiony type of plant. He quickly rolled over to avoid being crushed by Sherlock’s lanky frame as the boy slid down the opening, a thump being heard as the trap door shut behind him. 

John sighed, resting his head back and trying to calm his racing heart. He began to giggle but quickly noticed that Sherlock was not joining in. “Sherlock?” he asked and tried to turn his head but the vines around him quickly shot out, pulling him closer to the cushiony plant. 

“Sherlock something is happening.” He muttered as he tried to rip his arm out of the plant but the more he struggled the more the plant seemed to fight back. “Sherlock- make some noise so I know you are alive!” John shouted, twisting his head from side to side to try and see his friend. 

“I am fine John. Try to relax.” 

John stopped moving for a second. “Did you just say to relax?”

He could hear Sherlock’s impatient sight from across the…whatever this plant was. “This is Devils Snare John.” 

John gasped, recognizing the name. He made sure that he studied extra hard for herbology, wanting to impress his head of house and also being intrigued with healing, herbology was extremely useful. He knew that with the plant the more you struggled the faster it would kill you. He instantly stopped moving and instead sat perfectly still, trying to control his breathing. 

“Any chance that this won’t kill us?” John asked meekly. 

“I doubt that they would create something that would kill someone.” Sherlock drawled. 

“We just got passed a three headed dog! With Teeth the size of my feet!” John shouted and the plant wrapped around his arm tighter. He took a deep breath and released it, trying to relax. 

“Yes well, that’s not saying much is it?” Sherlock said, smirk in his voice. 

“Git.” John muttered. He heard a weird moving sound and suddenly underneath him he heard the sound of something hitting the ground. “Sherlock?” 

“Sherlock?” John asked. 

After a moment of rustling John heard Sherlock’s voice from below him. “The plant will not kill you If you let it drop you.” John nodded, and the plant tightened and he rolled his eyes at himself. 

“What does it look like down there?” John asked, trying to distract himself. 

He could hear the sound of Sherlock walking around, could imagine the look on his face as he scanned the room. “There is a tunnel, it seems to be dripping with something, I could probably tell if I-“

John fell through the snare and quickly shot up, ignoring the protests of his body. “Do NOT lick that!” John said, just in time as Sherlock leaned in to the wall. 

“I wasn’t going to lick it.” Sherlock said, although both of them knew he was blatantly lying. The two walked down the dripping corridor, shivering as the air was cold and grew colder. There was an odd sound reverberating through the halls and John gulped, as they got closer. 

“Any idea what’s next?” John asked. Sherlock hummed but wiggled his nose in the way that John knew meant he had no idea. “Right. Do you know what the stone looks like at least? Could it have been in the Devils Snare?” 

“No, that would have been too risky. I imagine there is a task here created by each of the Professors, so that it is difficult to get passed, but not impossible.” 

John grimaced, “well that seems odd, why have tasks at all- why not just have a super strong spell that blocks people from getting it?” 

Sherlock shrugged. “Dramatics. Wizards love to be dramatic.” 

John hummed and walked ahead, the noise getting louder and suddenly he spotted brooms lined up against the wall of a chamber. He looked up as the noise increased and gasped as there were thousands of…things that were flying around. 

“What are they?” John asked. 

“Keys, with wings.” Sherlock said from beside the door, examining the lock. “We need the slowest one, it likely has broken wings as it is constantly being shoved in to the lock, and this is an extremely old door, the keys up look far too shiny to fit.” John blinked his eyes rapidly. 

His eyes landed on the row of brooms and it slowly began to make sense. “No. No, no. Sherlock, this one will have to be you.” John said, crossing his arms. 

Sherlock grabbed a broom, threw it at John, who automatically caught it and then grabbed one himself. “Oh John, stop, everyone’s first flying lesson is disastrous.” Sherlock commented as he situated himself on the broom.

“Yeah?” John asked disbelieving. 

“Mycroft fell off his and broke his arm. Dad healed it right away but still, I laughed for ages.” 

John looked at his broom thoughtfully and then back up at the fast flying keys. “I can’t catch those Sherlock, I can barely stay on the broom and if I fall and break anything I will be no good to you.” 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, which is why you will distract them while I go for that one.” Sherlock pointed to the slow moving key, lazily floating as the others buzzed around them. 

“Right. Well here goes nothing.” John said, kicking off from the ground shakily. He almost cursed as immediately the keys began to fly towards him, their wings angrily beating and he flew in the opposite direction, trying not to get impaled. 

He couldn’t look at Sherlock, he was too busy trying to avoid falling off his broom or crashing in to the wall. He really was awful at flying. Although after a minute he felt himself getting more confident and he began to fly the keys around better, making sure they avoided the area near Sherlock and flew fast enough to prevent the older key to catch up. 

He turned the corner, heading towards Sherlock and watched in amazement as the boy glided seemingly effortlessly, through the air, his eyes moving back and forth. He suddenly dove, flying down in a straight line and grabbing the old key, pulling up dangerously close to the ground and leveling out, hopping off his broom. 

John did an involuntary fist pump and flew down to the ground, the keys remaining up in the air near the ceiling, still agitated but clearly hesitant to get any closer to the ground. They placed the brooms back and Sherlock gently put the squirming key in to the lock, turning it and the door slid open. 

Sherlock lightly tossed the key back in the air and it slowly flapped away, joining the rest of the keys. “Well that was….” John said, trailing off and looking at Sherlock with a shrug. “I didn’t realize you could fly so well.” 

“I grew up flying, you would be just as good if you did as well.” Sherlock said, moving forward. “We have had Herbology, charms, that leaves transfiguration, defense against the dark arts and potions.” 

“What about History of Magic or Astronomy?” John asked, semi jokingly, fully aware of Sherlock’s distaste for the subjects. 

Sherlock pointedly ignored him and they continued on, approaching a life sized Wizarding Chess set. “Transfiguration. Then.” Sherlock commented. 

John breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness you are so good at Chess. This will be fun to watch.”

“Hmmm no, John we have to play as pieces. Take up that square there, I will take the Queen’s spot.” 

“But that is the King’s spot.” John pointed out as he moved to the square for the king. 

“Yes, that way you will only get hurt if I lose. Which won’t happen. Now quiet, I need to think.” 

John avidly watched as Sherlock began shouting orders to the pieces on the board, cringing as the blows sent pieces flying in every direction. Sherlock had laser focus, and John was extremely grateful for Sherlock’s mind palace and his ability to predict every move. It was truly amazing. 

John’s heart jumped to his throat as he watched Sherlock move himself around the board, taking big jumps to get to the next squares. “Be careful.” John muttered as a knight knocked the pawn next to Sherlock off the board. 

Quicker than he could imagine Sherlock was getting in place to take down the king, John still surrounded by pieces. John watched anxiously as Sherlock approached the king, Sherlock who normally bore such an intimidating figure looked small, tiny and thin in front of the large stone king. 

John held his breath as the King released the sword and it fell down to the ground, signifying its defeat. Sherlock turned and shot a haughty grin to John. “See, now come on- there should only be two left.” 

As they approached the door to the next room a foul smell began wafting towards them. “What is that?” John asked, disgusted as he moved his robe over his mouth. 

“I imagine it is a troll.” Sherlock said, pausing as he looked away in the distance. 

“How are we going to defeat a troll?” John asked, looking around for a weapon. Sherlock closed his eyes, moving his head slightly before nodding. 

“In the tales circulating the castle, only one seemed plausible. The Gryffindors used a levitating spell to hit the troll in the head, knocking it out, with its own club.” Sherlock said reaching out to grab the door. 

“Woah!” John shouted, grabbing Sherlock’s arm and yanking it from the door. “So we are just going to go in there, wands blazing based off a rumor? I thought you said they were all rubbish.” 

“They aren’t all rubbish. All lies are based in fact, and underneath all of the stories, there was a common theme. And it is the only answer that makes sense. They were in a lavatory, they couldn’t exactly use a toilet to defeat the troll, and they only have a basic knowledge of spells, and cannot perform one strong enough to defeat a troll. The troll being knocked out by its own club was what happened, and if not-you and I will make it work.” 

John took a deep breath, the thought of tackling a troll, a troll that is apparently extremely large and smelly was daunting to say the least. But Sherlock was confident, and they had gotten this far after all. John straightened his back, arm out in front of him, wand clasped tightly in his left hand and he motioned for Sherlock to open the door. 

Almost immediately the stench hit them like a punch to the face. The boys grimaced, their stomachs threatening to evacuate their lunch but they kept walking forward, determined to press on and conquest the troll. 

John caught sight of the Troll first and without thinking he yelled out Wingardium leviosa, doing the wand motion, without the extra flick- thank you Mycroft- and the troll flew up, the club dropping to the ground. “Oh!” John shouted in surprise, quickly flicking his wand up, causing the troll to hit his head on the ceiling. He then flicked his wand down and the troll fell on its back, its head smacking against the ground, eyes closing immediately. 

Silence filled the room and Sherlock slowly approached the troll, kicking its foot lightly. The troll slept on. “Well,” Sherlock said, slowly spinning towards John. “that is one way to do it.” 

John couldn’t help but allow the bubble of laughter to spill out of him and Sherlock joined him, both of them taking a moment to laugh in the middle of their extreme adventure. 

There was, according to Sherlock, only one door standing in between them and the stone. John quieted his laughter and straightened his back, walking around the troll, checking to see if it was breathing first, it was, and moved towards the door, and gently pushing it open. 

The boys walked through and John snorted. “That was simple.” And suddenly flames erupted from the door behind them, large purple flames completely blocking their path. John grimaced and looked over to the other door but it was covered in black flames. They were stuck. 

“Yes, simple.” Sherlock remarked and John stuck his tongue out. “Mature.” 

“So, I am assuming this is Professor Snape’s,” John said, walking forward and looking at the bottles in front of them. “What is this all about?” John asked. There was a poem sitting besides seven bottles of different colors and sizes, Sherlock read it quickly and then passed it to John. 

“Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind, two of us will help you, whichever you would find, One among us seven will let you move ahead, Another will transport the drinker back instead, Two among our number hold only nettle-wine, Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line Choose unless you wish to stay here forevermore. To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:”

“Don’t bother, I’ve solved it.” Sherlock said grabbing the right most bottle and handing it to John and then grabbing another one from the middle for himself. “I know you said to explain everything, and I will if you require but it is a simple logic puzzle and-“

“Yes, I get it, no need. So, which is this?” Sherlock pursed his lips and John shook his head. “No, we drink the same or we don’t drink at all.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The drinker has to drink it all. We can’t drink half of one- it might not work and then we could be burned alive.”

John looked at the purple flames behind him. “So I am supposed to go back with the dead troll, walk through and re-play the chess game, get back through the keys and then somehow climb through the devils snare? And then how do you suppose you will be getting back? What if there is only one way forward- then what? The way I see it- either you or me is getting stuck down here and I really don’t consider that a valid option.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, eyes running all over his face and then his body, taking in the clenched fists and ramrod straight posture. Any idiot could tell John was serious and would not be deterred and Sherlock was far from an idiot. 

“Right well, leave the bottle there and if we end up disfigured and burned, it is on you.” Sherlock said, taking a swig of the potion and handing the rest to John, both grimacing as the thick potion went down. 

They approached the black flame together, nodding as they braced themselves and then walked through. The flames were definitely hot and seemed to sting slightly but they did not burn or cause any damage. “Huh” John said, twisting his hands around and looking at them in surprise. 

“Glad that worked.” He said, smiling at Sherlock but the boy was scanning the blank room, looking for the stone. John began walking around too, and as he walked he noticed the dust was irregular and there was an odd feeling in the air. 

He turned to see Sherlock staring at him, an expectant smile on his face. “There is something being hidden here. I can feel it and the dust lines are wrong, and look at the coloring of the stone.” 

“Very good John.” Sherlock smiled for a moment before his face blanked and he stalked over to the area John pointed out. “Now this must be the Headmaster’s challenge, and it will probably be a simple password…” Sherlock straightened, turning to look at John. “What was the last candy that was served at the Great Hall.” 

“Umm,” John hesitated, wracking his brain. He remembered the pumpkin pasties around Halloween, and the treacle fudge but recently….his mind flashed back to two days ago, when ribs were served. Afterwards there were weird string candies that John was told by his housemates to just suck on and they would do the work. 

“Toothflossing Stringmints.” John said, remembering how the mints had flossed his teeth as he used them, getting rid of anything remaining in his teeth and leaving his mouth minty fresh. 

Suddenly after a glimmer of magic a desk appeared, on it a red shimmering rock. “Is that?” John asked and Sherlock muttered an obvious as he swooped up the stone. 

The second he touched the stone the wall behind it began to slide and Sherlock shoved John behind him, his wand at the ready for whomever or whatever was behind the stonewall. 

But it wasn’t a monster, or another task, no it was even worse. John’s stomach sank and he gulped, it was headmaster Dumbledore.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John face the consequences of "stealing" the Stone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

“You can put that away Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson. I mean you no harm.” The boys squinted as the light from the corridor flooded in, silhouetting headmaster Dumbledore. 

They stepped forward, both realizing that they were in serious trouble as they emerged in to a first floor corridor, not too far from the Great hall. “Hmm follow me please boys.” Dumbledore said, smiling at them as they walked to his office. 

John shot Sherlock a worried look and Sherlock awkwardly gave John a pat on his lower back, wanting to convey reassurance but not knowing exactly how to. John shot him a grateful look and they continued to walk. Somehow neither of them had ended up in the headmaster’s office yet so John had no idea where it was. 

Although Sherlock seemed to have a map of the Castle in his head so he probably knew exactly how many steps it would take to get there. 

Dumbledore approached a large gargoyle statute and said “Toothflossing Stringmints,” shooting the boys an amused glance. “I fear I am becoming transparent in my old age.” Dumbledore commented. 

Sherlock opened his mouth but John elbowed him discreetly, he wanted to prevent their expulsion as much as possible. They walked up a long and winding staircase, eventually stopping and coming out in to an interesting office filled with all types of knick-knacks and moving parts. There were portraits of all the past headmasters and they seemed to speak all at once, muttering about insolence and expulsion. 

John gulped and approached the large claw-footed desk, sitting down at one of the chairs after Dumbledore told them to sit. Dumbledore walked over to the desk, sitting down gingerly, a large red bird trilling softly at him. 

The three sat there for a moment, staring at each other, John with fear, Sherlock appraising and Dumbledore with eyes twinkling over his half moon spectacles. “Your brother apologized to me in a rather long letter this summer.” Dumbledore directed at Sherlock, a smile on his face. “He seemed to be under the impression that he needed to apologize in advance for your behavior.” Dumbledore left out a small laugh. 

Sherlock frowned but luckily kept his mouth shut. “I do not begrudge students of their curiosity, especially not from such a fascinating and brilliant,” Dumbledore’s eyes flicked to John’s for a moment, “mind.” John frowned. Was he so obvious in his opinion of Sherlock that even the Headmaster knew he found him to be brilliant?

“However I must ask that you return the stone to me, and explain how and how it came in to your possession.” Dumbledore said softly, holding his hand out. 

Sherlock paused for a moment but slowly moved, gingerly pulling the stone from his pocket and handing it to Dumbledore. Dumbledore placed the stone in to his desk, after staring at it thoughtfully. 

Sherlock looked like he was about to speak so John cut in, hoping he could plead their case with more tact. “We are sorry Headmaster, we know that the corridor is forbidden but we heard that someone was going to steal the stone and we wanted to make sure it stayed out of the wrong hands. So we got it.” John said, shrugging and realizing just how lackluster the explanation was. No way would Dumbledore let them leave after that meager explanation. 

“And who, did you believe was going to steal it?” Dumbledore asked, cocking his head to the side. 

John licked his lips and glanced at Sherlock. “Well, you see Headmaster, I know it sounds strange but-“

“Professor Quirrell is after the stone, and is harboring Voldemort on his person.” Sherlock bluntly said, interrupting John. 

John had to hand it to Dumbledore, if the man was surprised or phased in anyway by this information he did not act it. “Hmmm.” He said, bringing his hand up and rubbing it in his beard. “That is a serious allegation boys.” Dumbledore remarked, looking at the red bird beside them. 

“Yes well when you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.” Sherlock said, and John had lost count of how many times he had heard Sherlock say that to him since he met the boy. 

Dumbledore sighed. “And can you explain this to me?” 

John opened his mouth, ready to regurgitate Sherlock’s deductions but Sherlock nudged him with his foot, making John go silent. “It is easier to know it than to explain why I know it, Headmaster. If I asked you to prove two plus two made four, you may find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Just as I am sure that Quirrell and Voldemort are sharing one body and they are after the stone.” 

John held his breath, looking at the Headmaster, waiting for the verdict. The man stared at Sherlock for a long while, interrupted only by a soft snore from the sorting hat behind him. 

“I apologize Mr. Holmes, but without concrete evidence I cannot go accusing a professor of aiding a supposedly dead dark wizard.” Sherlock kept his face blank, nodding once and nudging John again when John was about to argue. 

“That being said, you boys have made it frightfully clear where our faults in security lie. I will be in search of more secure measures.” Dumbledore sat up straighter and steeped his hands on his deck. “Now there is the matter of your punishment.”

John shuddered, his mind going to Harry’s reaction at seeing him on their doorstep, arms full of belongings, telling her he got kicked out. She would laugh and ridicule him for the rest of his life. And he would never see Sherlock again. Why would Sherlock want to associate with a talentless Muggle?

“I heard from your mother today Mr. Holmes. She was very upset when you were not on the train with your brother, and demanded that both you and Mr. Watson be sent home immediately.” Dumbledore remarked with a chuckle. 

“I wish to spend my holidays as far away as possible from Mycroft.” Sherlock stated. 

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling as he peered at the Ravenclaw from over his glasses, “which is why, as punishment, I am sending you both to the Holmes’ estate immediately.” 

Sherlock pursed his lips, clearly irritated by the outcome. 

“That’s it?” John blurted out, causing both Dumbledore and Sherlock to look at him with raised eyebrows. “I mean, we just stole the philosophers stone, how do you know we aren’t lying- how can you be sure we didn’t get it because we wanted to use it- not to protect it?” 

Dumbledore’s eyes widened and he smiled at John. “It is my belief that the truth is generally preferable to lies.” 

John stared, was that supposed to answer his question? He looked to Sherlock but the boy ignored him and Dumbledore just continued to look at him with twinkling eyes. 

“Headmaster?” John turned and saw Professor McGonagall walk in, “Albus, Mrs. Holmes says the boys can floo over whenever they are ready.” 

Dumbledore nodded and McGonagall left back down the stairs. Dumbledore stood and John and Sherlock slowly mirrored him, John hesitant because this seemed far too good to be true. “I do hope you have a grand holiday.” 

John nodded and the two began to walk out, to go gather their belongings and then floo. Whatever that meant. “Oh and boys?”

They spun around. “I ask you to refrain from revisiting your adventure. I assure you that the second time around may not be as simple as you seemed to find it.” 

**

And that was how John found himself with the Holmes family on Christmas morning, sitting around a tree and staring wide eyed and opened mouth at the largest pile of gifts he had ever seen. He had been hesitant to meet the Holmes’, he figured they would be just as calculating as Sherlock and Mycroft but surprisingly they were extremely warm and friendly. 

Mrs. Holmes was a loud, outspoken woman who was wickedly smart and interested in her children’s studies. Mr. Holmes seemed to be more the voice of reason, he was subdued but whenever he spoke he commanded the attention of his family. He had laughed with John and confided that he was a bit of a moron, that his wife and children far surpassed his intelligence. 

John understood how he felt. He sat stunned, his mouth perpetually open as he watched as Mycroft and Sherlock knew what their gifts were before they even opened them. John was even more amazed when Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes at her husband, without even touching the present at her feet. 

“Really love?” She sighed, her face a mixture between a smile and a scowl as she looked at her husband. “I don’t need a copy of my own book.”

“It’s mostly for me, you know how much I love having a complete set.” Mr. Holmes smiled, staring at his wife with shining eyes. John watched the exchange, happy to see a couple who so obviously cared for each other. He looked over and saw that Sherlock and Mycroft were bickering at each other over something and he sighed, realizing that the two had no idea how lucky they were to have such wonderful parents. 

John had no idea what his gifts were before he opened them. He was shocked that he even received any presents, embarrassed and partly mortified that the Holmes had clearly got him gifts and he had nothing in return. Of course they had all waved him off, assuring him that his presence was gift enough, but John still made a note to send them a gift later, even Mycroft. 

His pile of gifts consisted of a number of wizarding items that John was both excited and intimidated by. There were school supplies he hadn’t even realized he would need, a few jumpers (much higher quality than he would normally purchase), and a couple of books, the most interesting being the beginners guide to healing magic. Sherlock had turned pink when John gushed about it and he shot the boy a thankful look, eager to begin to read it. 

Sherlock had received a number of gifts from his parents, most of which were potions ingredients and surprisingly some Muggle science equipment. “Just like his mother,” Mr. Holmes had said, looking over at his son fondly as the boy practically hugged the microscope in his hands, “filled with an encompassing need to know everything at least once.” 

John had laughed, unable to agree more with the man. Sherlock may not remember everything but he certainly put in an effort to learn as much as he could. The book that John had gotten for Sherlock, one of Glover Hipworth’s original manifests, explained his methods on inventing and creating new potions. Most of it went over John’s head but he knew Sherlock had a love of potions and he figured the theories and attempts by Hipworth would be right up Sherlock’s alley. 

“Look Mummy, Sherlock can make the pepper-up potions and John can administer them. What a lovely partnership.” Mycroft had said, smiling fakely at the two boys. 

Mrs. Holmes had mockingly glared at her eldest son, but there was no heat behind it. “Myc, settle down.”

“Yes settle down- I am sure Mummy has a cake somewhere around here with your name on it.” Sherlock sneered at him. 

“Why don’t you lot open your crackers.” Mr. Holmes said, pointing to an artful and intricate wrought iron basket sitting next to the large fireplace. There were brightly metallic covered Christmas Crackers and John rubbed his hands in excitement as he grabbed one, watching as Mycroft handed one out to his parents and then turned to Sherlock, grimacing. 

“Would you like to share?” Mycroft bit out, clearly not wanting to but knowing his mother was watching. Sherlock smirked but before he could say some smart ass remark John cleared his throat, looking pointedly away. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Fine, although for the record,” Sherlock pulled his end of the cracker quickly and an extremely loud band echoed through the home. “this is a foolish tradition.” 

John ripped his hands from where they had quickly covered his ears. “What the-“ he started but quickly stopped when he remembered Sherlock’s parents in the same room. The Holmes boys narrowed their eyes and then the sound of two bangs in quick proximity went off and John jumped, his heart racing and his leg burning. 

He could feel his lungs constricting, his breath coming out in shaky gasps and he looked down to see not just black spots clouding his vision but a tremor in his left hand. 

“Here,” John heard a commotion and then Sherlock’s voice came from directly in front of him. “Well, I put the hat on, might as well have a laugh while you have a chance.” John could barely breath but he made the effort to look up, his breath hitching for a different reason as he took in the sight of Sherlock in front of him. 

The boy had a rather large Barrett resting on his curls, but instead of being black it was bright pink, with sequins all over it and three bright gold feathers sticking up from the top of it, waving slightly as Sherlock moved his head. John bit his lip but he couldn’t completely catch the laughter before it bubbled out of him, causing him to bend over and lose it. 

He heard the rest of the Holmes join in with him and when he straightened up he saw the rest of the family all wearing their own bizarre hats. None of the Holmes’ commented on John’s near panic attack, nor did they give him any pitying or worrying looks. He smiled as he watched the gold feathers sway on Sherlock’s head, giggling as the boy scowled. 

He didn’t know if he had ever been as thankful to have Sherlock as a friend as he did in that moment. 

**

“Do your parents know?” John asked one night as he was sprawled across Sherlock’s bed, staring up at the enchanted ceiling as Sherlock fluttered around by his desk, fiddling with the microscope that he had got as a Christmas gift.

“Hmm?” 

“About the stone? And Dumbledore catching us?” John asked, spinning around and lying on his side as he watched Sherlock. 

Sherlock pulled away from the microscope and turned to John, resting against the desk. “Does it matter?”

“Well, I don’t exactly want your parents to think I am a bad influence on you.” 

As soon as he said it John realized how ridiculous he sounded and Sherlock barked out laughter. “John. My parents have known me for twelve years. They are well aware of just exactly how much I can influence someone, and how susceptible I am to the charms of a Hufflepuff.” 

John didn’t know whether he should be insulted by that, he cocked his head, thinking. Sherlock stared back at him, shrugging slightly before looking away, towards the window at the far side of his room, overlooking the large gardens. “And Mummy knew what I was doing.” 

“What?” John asked, sitting up and staring at Sherlock in disbelief. “you told your mother that we broke in to a forbidden area in school and grabbed the philosopher’s stone?”

Sherlock scoffed, looking at John as if he was an idiot. “Don’t be stupid. I told her that I needed extra time to convince you to come with me, and that I would be ready to go in a few hours. I knew that Dumbledore would have something in place that would alert him when someone entered the chambers to pick up the stone, it was his last challenge that was password protected. And I knew we would be subjected to some type of punishment- so I ensured that Mummy would get my note around the time we emerged from the chambers. Of course I had no idea how long it would take, that was a shot in the dark on my part.” Sherlock shrugged, as if it was no big deal at all. 

“But wait.” John said, scooting to the end of the bed. “I was the one who said we should go during the day, I changed the plans. You wanted to go at night.” John pointed out, eyes narrowed as he stared suspiciously at his friend. 

Sherlock scrunched his nose. “Lucky happenstance.” Sherlock turned back around and grabbed a slide, shoving it under his microscope and making some notes on his paper. John was left confused; having no idea why Sherlock didn’t want to talk about it but decided to just let it go. Either Sherlock had some strange- most likely insulting reason for what happened, or he was embarrassed to say he was wrong. Either way, it didn’t really make a difference and John was happy to enjoy the rest of their break. 

**

 

John couldn’t really say that it was the best Christmas he had, the thought of that made his parents’ faces flash through his mind, images of his parents curled around each other on the couch, smiling as him and Harry ripped apart their gifts. The fire would always be crackling, his Mum had always been so cold, and his father would actually relax, the Watson household peaceful for one day. 

He pursed his lips, looking out at the vast grounds behind the Holmes’ house, or more like manor, as he thought of what his sister was doing. In their last round of letters he had told her that he was staying at Hogwarts for the Hols, and she had brushed it off, something along the lines of ‘it’s for the best.’ But now he imagined her by herself in front of a tree, drinking eggnog, passing out, and-

“Just floo her.” John turned and looked at Sherlock, the boy was bent over his Muggle microscope, and John wondered if Sherlock had even been speaking to him. “I don’t see why you are worried.” 

Of course Sherlock had been able to see what he was thinking, even with his face shoved in a microscope. He opened his mouth but Mycroft, who was leaning against the door, extremely casually with his arms crossed, one hand twirling his wand idly, interrupted him again, this time. 

“There are faster ways than floo. If you are truly worried about your sister, I could be of assistance.” Mycroft drawled and Sherlock finally straightened from the microscope- scowling viciously at his brother. 

“Get out,” Sherlock hissed, hand reaching for his wand. 

Mycroft smirked, waggling a finger at his brother. “Now now, Sherlock, you know you can’t use magic.” 

If anything Sherlock’s face grew even more pinched and John took an involuntary step back, afraid Sherlock would grab the cauldron filled with….well John had no idea what it was filled with but it smelled awful, at his brother. 

Sherlock said nothing, his eyes narrowing and scanning Mycroft before seeming to almost soften. Sherlock paused for a moment longer and then went back to his microscope, seeming to decide not to interact with his brother further. 

John raised an eyebrow in his direction but instead swiveled to look at Mycroft. “What did you have in mind?” 

**

It was very odd, watching someone disappear with a crack. John shivered as he stared out at the grounds, this time from the actual lawn, where he had been standing when Mycroft briefly explained Apparating. He was still not used to the wizarding world, especially coming from a military background, his fantasies as a child weren’t ever exactly entertained. 

When Mycroft had led him outside, John had wondered briefly if it was all just an elaborate trap, which Mycroft definitely caught. Surprisingly he had said that he would go check in on Harry, let him know what she was up to. And while John found it partly, well mostly, creepy that Mycroft was just going to pop out of nowhere and spy on his sister, he also was glad he would get a report. 

Her letters were more sporadic of late, and even though he was eight years younger than her, and they were significant years, he still felt responsible for her. The thought of her alone made him shiver again. 

Crack

John spun around, watching as Mycroft blinked at him for a moment. They engaged in an awkward stare off for a few moments, Mycroft’s face surprisingly blank, but John could still feel his analytical eyes roving all over him. 

He felt naked. In December. 

“Well?” he finally asked, kicking the ground nervously. Was his sister passed out in vomit or something? 

Mycroft cleared his throat, once, twice. “You’re freaking me out.” John said, straightening up. “Was she okay? Was she alone?” 

Mycroft’s face turned red, bright red, making John pause. “Uh…?” 

“She is fine. She has company. Your sister is most assuredly having a lovely holiday.” Mycroft said quickly, almost stuttering as he bit the words out. 

John had never seen him so flustered, then again minus this past week he didn’t exactly interact too frequently with him. “Was she at-“

“Oh dear! Do you hear that?” Mycroft said, grabbing his wand and muttering an amplifier spell on his ear. “I do believe Mummy is summoning me.” 

John gaped as Mycroft hurried away, he glanced around him, feeling like he was in an alternate universe. But he supposed, he kind of was. 

**

Sherlock snorted when he caught sight of John. “You are brilliant John, honestly sending Mycroft to see that, you should have seen him just now he was so flustered.” Sherlock looked positively gleeful as he spoke to John who had just entered Sherlock’s room. 

“Yeah about that, why exactly was he so flustered?” Sherlock looked at John with raised eyebrows. “What- oh don’t tell me you just knew what happened from looking at him?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes I did. He was flustered John, after popping in to see your sister. Mycroft never gets flustered. What would cause him to get flustered?” 

John stared blankly back at Sherlock, shrugging after a moment. “Did he walk in on her while she was in the loo?” 

Sherlock threw his hands in the air. “You are hopeless. I refuse to spoon feed you like a baby!” 

John watched as Sherlock flounced down the hallway, talking to himself as he waived his hands in the air. “Oh John, do ignore the lad, he’s just in a strop because the missus refused to let him experiment with something, don’t ask me what, I don’t get involved.” 

John turned, smiling softly at Mr. Holmes as he entered the hallway, a cup of coffee in his hand. The man beckoned him to the kitchen across the way. “Speaking of the missus, you might want to pop in the kitchen, she makes a mean hot cocoa, Sherlock’s favorite, and I am sure she would love some company. The boys rarely tolerate such mundane normalcy as cooking, and my lady sure does love to talk.” 

Mr. Holmes patted John on the back and took off in the direction of his office, leaving John to enter the kitchen and approach Mrs. Holmes. She was standing by the stove, a book was spelled in her line of sight as she idly twirled a spoon in a pan. John cleared his throat, getting her attention. 

She smiled when she caught sight of him, waiving him over and gesturing to a stool by the island. “Have a seat John, do you like cocoa? I have to admit, I make it to bribe Sherlock, he can’t resist it, even though he does try valiantly.”

John smiled, imagining Sherlock’s petulance being beaten by his sweet tooth. “I would love some.”

She nodded and flicked her wand, sending the book to lay neatly on the island beside him. The title was something convoluted involving maths that John could barely distinguish. 

“I hope you are finding your stay comfortable John. I know that it’s hard being away from your family on the break, and I can only imagine how difficult it is for you.” She spoke softly, sympathetic but lacking the normal pity that other people threw at him. 

John cleared his throat, his words suddenly thick and unable to come out. He tried to avoid thinking about his parents, otherwise he would be an emotional mess all the time. But occasionally it did creep up on him, the weight of their loss, the hole in his heart where his mother’s comforting hugs used to lie, and his father’s easy camaraderie kept him company. 

Mrs. Holmes stared at him with kind eyes and he gave her a small smile. “It is easier surrounded by your family.” John said, blushing at the sappiness he was displaying. 

“Well good, I am glad to hear that. Any friend of Sherlock’s is a friend of ours, you’re welcome in our home anytime.” John muttered his thanks and watched as she added more chocolate in to the sauce pan, the delicious smell wafting towards him. 

“Do you do all your cooking?” John asked and then quickly realized that it might not be a polite question to ask. “Sorry-I mean, Sherlock introduced me to a few houselves, and he said that a lot of wizarding households use them for cooking and cleaning.” 

She waved her hand towards him. “Don’t ever apologize for your curiosity John, people rarely question things as much as they should.” John nodded, seeing the resemblance between mother and son. “I do the cooking when I have the chance. Sometimes I get distracted, involved in a project, and I forget to eat.” 

She shrugged. “You shouldn’t worry about your sister,” John’s head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes, confused by the quick change of topic. “Some people don’t understand how to rationalize magic when they have grown up their whole lives being told it is a thing of fantasy. Especially someone who has been left with no parents, and a young child in their care with no experience.” 

John opened his mouth, but closed it, nodding instead. Mrs. Holmes smiled and turned off the stove. “Sherlock told you about me?” John asked, curiously. 

Mrs. Holmes smiled, shaking her head as she summoned three mugs, carefully pouring the cocoa in to them. “Heavens no, you are his most guarded secret. But, my boys didn’t develop their powers of observation without help.” She said, winking at John as she passed him a steaming cup of cocoa, topped with marshmallows and whipped cream. 

John held the cup as a shiver of warmth ran from the mug, down his arms. Suddenly an elf popped in to the kitchen, bowing lightly at Mrs. Holmes. “Baskin please let the boys know there is hot cocoa in the kitchen.” The houself nodded its head and snapped its fingers, disappearing from view again. 

“I don’t know if I will ever get used to that.” John admitted. 

“No worries John, you seem like a bright young man. And don’t let Sherlock give you a hard time about being observant. The only way he knows to teach his methods is how they were taught to him, and oh did Mycroft torture the poor child when he was growing up. Always forcing Sherlock to think, observe, deduce, be better than he was. I would have hushed him, but well, you can see the results yourself.” 

It sounded a bit twisted to John, but he was hardly surprised by this information. From the near constant bickering between the Holmes brothers it was clear that they were not stereotypically chummy, but they still held each other in high regards. 

“Your famous hot cocoa? Might I assume that Sherlock is off sulking somewhere?” asked Mycroft as he sauntered in to the kitchen, sliding in to the seat beside John and grabbing a mug. 

“Oh shush you, don’t forget that I raised you, if you think you are going to embarrass Sherlock in front of his friend without retribution from me you are mistaken.” Mrs. Holmes warned Mycroft. 

Mycroft dipped his head and took a sip of the drink, closing his eyes before taking a big gulp. “Delicious as always.”

“Yes well, save some for the rest of us.” Sherlock muttered as he walked over, practically flinging himself in the chair on the opposite side of John, farthest from Mycroft. Sherlock took a hearty gulp from his mug, shooting his mother a pointed glance. “And don’t think I don’t know your manipulation tactics by now Mummy.” However, the whip cream mustache that Sherlock was sporting ruined the effect and both Mummy and John began laughing in earnest. 

“Oh it is so nice to have you boys back home.” 

**

“Oh Myc,” Mrs. Holmes gushed as she fussed with Mycroft’s robe, dusting imaginary dust off of it. “I can’t believe this is your last train ride to Hogwarts.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, earning a small smile from his father. “You’ll be in his place sooner than you think son.” 

Sherlock scoffed, appalled by the very idea that he would be in Mycroft’s place. He opened his mouth but his father ruffled his hair, smiling at the boy’s outrageous expression. “Try not to rush things though, don’t forget you are allowed to be a child.” 

John hid his smile behind his hand as Sherlock looked at his father in a horrified manner. Mrs. Holmes came over and ran her hand through Sherlock’s hair, trying to pat it down, but his curly hair was resilient. 

“Now Sherlock, try to refrain from getting sent to the Headmaster.” She smirked to him, knowing that asking him not to get in trouble would be pointless, she knew her son didn’t try to get in trouble, all of the time, but his curiosity often got him in to situations. 

“And John,” she turned to him, squeezing his shoulder, “you take care, and let me know if my boys get out of hand.” 

“I will. Thank you for having me.” John said, smiling at the Holmes. They waved him off and then stood back as the boys all boarded the train. 

“Did you ever tell your Mum or Dad why we were in Professor Dumbledore’s office?” asked John as they slid in to an open compartment, Sherlock sneering at Mycroft and closing the door in his face after he told them to stay out of trouble. 

“Hmm no.” Sherlock said as he sprawled out over the bench in the compartment. “Ugh this is awful, we should be allowed to portkey to Hogsmeade and walk to the Castle. This train ride is always so dull.” 

“This is only the second time you’ve been on the train.” John pointed out, “Don’t you think you should have told your Mum and Dad?” 

Sherlock threw his arm over his face. “No. Besides, there is nothing to tell, you heard the Headmaster.” 

“Nothing to tell? But, Professor Quirrell has Voldemort living on him or something…shouldn’t the government or something know?” 

“No one listens to children about things like this John. We would be wasting our breath.” 

John narrowed his eyes, not understanding the bitterness in his tone. “Have you accused someone of being Voldemort in the past?”

Sherlock huffed and turned his head towards John, moving his arm so John could see his un-amused expression. “Don’t be an idiot, this is the first anyone has heard of Voldemort’s revival. I have tried to tell the Muggle police about a murder once, they completely ignored me.” 

“You solved a murder? When? How?” 

“Over the summer, a London boy was presumed to have drowned but I figured out it was murder.” 

John gaped, eyes widening in amazement. “Well, don’t just sit there- tell me how!”

Sherlock paused for a moment before launching in to the tale, brightening minutely each time John gushed about how brilliant he was. After that story John asked him about any other crimes he had solved from just reading the newspaper and they spent the remainder of the train ride discussing Sherlock’s past cases. 

And though he would never admit it, the train ride was not as dull as it had been. 

**


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of their first year at Hogwarts.

**

Although he certainly missed the excitement of figuring out the mystery of the forbidden corridor, John had to admit he was relieved to be able to devote more of his time to actual schoolwork and studying. Lessons were getting more difficult, the spells and theories more complex, and he struggled to keep up with his classmates. 

Of course with Sherlock beside him during class, telling John that he was holding his wand all wrong, and emphasizing the wrong syllable helped a lot. And the amount of time they spent in the library, or in abandoned classrooms practicing spells allowed John to not only remain on par with the rest of the students but also surpass a majority of them. 

Not all of their time was spent studying and doing homework, no matter how much Sherlock tried to whine that it was the case. Sherlock had a penchant for stumbling upon odd mysteries, whether it be a missing suit of armor near Gryffindor tower, or an owl that grew an extra wing over night, he would find John and the two would work tirelessly until they figured out what was going on. 

It was mostly Sherlock doing the figuring and John assisting him, or being an audience, but he couldn’t complain, he enjoyed all of their little adventures. He even began keeping them written in a journal, so that when he grew older he could tell his children and grandchildren all his tales, or Harry if she ever warmed up to the reality that he was a wizard. 

He hid the journal from Sherlock, or tried anyway. After only two entries Sherlock had stared at John’s left hand and then shot him an unimpressed look. “Really John?” But John had ignored him, smiling and just saying “Yes, really.” Sherlock let it go. 

January and February flew by and John found himself surrounded by his Hufflepuff housemates at the Gryffindor- Hufflepuff quidditch match. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to get Sherlock to attend but Sherlock insisted that once was enough. 

John had enjoyed the match immensely and had even engaged in some far-fetched conversations with Justin and Ernie about trying out for the team next year. Maybe with practice he could get decent on a broom, after all he had been able to hold his own when he and Sherlock had to catch the key to get to the Stone. 

John had brought up the idea of Quidditch to Sherlock, or rather Sherlock had announced the next day that no one on the Hufflepuff team was retiring next year so John would have to wait till their third year to make the team. 

“I probably wouldn’t make it anyway.” John said, smiling at Sherlock and opening up his large and mostly dusty history of magic textbook. “You’ve seen me on a broom, I am blood awful.” 

Sherlock snorted at first but then shrugged. “Judging by your performance the second time, one would reason that the more you practice the better you will become. You have the build of a seeker, but I think you would be better suited as a chaser.” 

John cocked his head to the side. “The build of a seeker?” 

“Yes, John. I doubt it’s slipped your notice that you are rather short for a male, tiny, compact. With the right broom you would be able to fly rather fast, but chaser is more your speed, although your focus is admirable you would enjoy a more active role throughout the match.” 

“Oi! I am not tiny.” John said indignantly, glaring at his friend, who seemed completely unperturbed by John’s annoyance. “You’re only an inch taller than me!” John hissed, as Madame Pince looked over at them. 

“Yes and I myself am short, ergo, tiny.” Sherlock rolled his eyes in John’s direction, “although based off my parents’ stature and Mycroft’s, I will tower over you by our fifth year.”

“Let’s just begin this homework.” John said, grabbing a quill and parchment from his bag. He paused as he noticed Sherlock didn’t have his book. “Are you planning on studying?”

Sherlock yawned. “I already put Professor Binns’ lecture in to my mind palace.”

John raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his crazy hair scattering every which way. “I am not even going to ask.” John muttered as he glared at his textbook and began to read. 

**

“Hagrid has a dragon.” John paused, his quill hovering over his parchment as Sherlock slid in to the seat across from him. 

“Nice of you to join me, you were supposed to be here hours ago.” John pointed out, looking at the hourglass on Madame Pince’s desk. 

“To do what- study?” 

“Of course, finals are in less than a month Sherlock.” John said, looking down at his parchment and swearing as he saw the drop of ink that his quill had left. 

“Finals? How could you think about finals when there is a dragon?” Sherlock asked, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Dragons are real?” 

His question was met with silence and he looked up to see Sherlock staring at him with a slack face, his mouth open in disbelief. 

“I will take that as a yes.” John sighed and closed the book, running his hands through his hair and waiting for Sherlock to fill him in. “And how do you know Hagrid has a dragon?”

Sherlock pursed his lips, seeming to want to say something but then reconsider it. “I noticed that he has been extremely upbeat lately, and yet at the same time he has been jumpy and careful, quick to rush off and ignore even his most favorite of students. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Hagrid has always wanted a dragon, he talks about the creatures at least twice a week and 73% of the books in his hut are about dragons.”

“When were you in Hagrid’s hut?”

“It was obvious he had come in to some good fortune of some sort, although it would be foolish to assume it was a dragon just because that is what Hagrid wants most. However, I knew it was a dragon when he came in to the Great Hall this morning, a piece of his beard missing, and singe marks on his clothing. Not to mention the sloppily bandaged burns on his fingers. It must be so difficult to be prohibited from using magic.”

“Hagrid can’t use magic?” 

“We must go now, Hagrid leaves his hut in thirty minutes to give Headmaster Dumbledore his weekly report of the grounds, tedious pointless task, if you ask anyone but Mycroft. Luckily for us it’s the perfect chance for us to go to his hut and see the dragon.” 

John stared at Sherlock, his face blank but taking in the pure excitement in the Ravenclaw’s eyes. “and why do we need to see the dragon?”

Sherlock looked offended by the question, but John wanted the answer. “I’ve always wanted to see a dragon.”

And Sherlock sounded like an actual twelve year old, making John remember Mr. Holmes’ advice to embrace being a child. Sherlock was so hopeful and John found that he couldn’t and didn’t want to spoil his good mood. 

“Alright lets go see a dragon. And on the way you can tell me when exactly you were in Hagrid’s hut, and why he can’t do magic.”

**

There were times that John wondered if he was disillusioned by Sherlock, or if the adults in the school were honestly oblivious…well…idiots. The day that the students began gossiping about Ron Weasley, a red-headed Gryffindor in their year, Sherlock had rolled his eyes, coming to sit with John at the Hufflepuff table. 

“Weasley was bit by the dragon, he wasn’t mauled by a rabid poltergeist with a vendetta.” 

John cocked his head, “I heard he was poisoned after Snape made him lick a dirty cauldron for talking in class.” 

Sherlock looked pained for a moment before shaking his head and biting in to a scone. “At least the poisoning is accurate.” 

“So I wonder who else knows about the dragon.” John said quietly, mindful of his housemates, and the general propensity for eavesdropping. 

“Irrelevant. Now that it has proved dangerous it will be discarded of. We should practice charms today, once classes are over.” 

John blinked. “Discarded? But…Hagrid loves that dragon.” And so do you, thought John, remembering how emotional Sherlock had gotten over the tiny dragon when they had “visited” Hagrid’s hut last week. 

“Yes and it attacked a student and in three weeks will be larger than Fang, and in three months it will no longer fit in Hagrid’s hut. It is impractical to keep a secret dragon at Hogwarts.” 

John opened his mouth to protest more, but he could see from the tense set of Sherlock’s shoulders that he wasn’t as blasé as he was trying to make it seem. 

“So charms yeah? I guess I could use some practice.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You guess? John you are awful.”

John hid his smile, glad to see the tension melt away as Sherlock launched in to a mini lecture about the improper way John was attempting the spell they were working on this week. 

**

The end of term rolled along, faster than anyone expected. John could confidently say that he was prepared for his exams and was actually looking forward to finishing them and then going to the final quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. 

John breezed through his exams, smiling as he handed in his History of Magic exam, glad to be finally done. Sherlock was waiting for him on the grounds, searching the base of a tree for some type of plant life. John had stopped asking. 

“I am glad that is over.” John said, throwing himself on the ground and spreading his limbs out, sighing as the warm sun hit his face. 

“Now all that is left is the Quidditch cup, exam results and the final feast and I will no longer have to endure Mycroft’s presence.” 

John chuckled. “Until you are stuck with him for the summer.”

“Wrong!” Sherlock announced, flinging himself down beside John. “He accepted a “minor” position in the ministry.”

“Doing what?” John asked, curious. Beyond spending almost a month in the Holmes’ manor, John knew next to nothing about Mycroft. 

“Everything, nothing, who knows?” John shrugged, used to vague answers from Sherlock. 

“Ravenclaw is a favorite to win the House Cup. Especially if they clinch the quidditch cup.” 

“Slytherin will win, pending some heroic event by some idiot.”

“I don’t understand how Slytherin has so many points. Most of them are smart, but they don’t all seem like the nicest of people.” 

Sherlock scoffed, grabbing a chunk of grass and throwing it in the air. “Please John, don’t be naïve. They are all ambitious, overachievers, just imagine an army of Mycrofts. They are over privileged and tend to think overly highly of themselves but they know how to win.” 

“Well I think Ravenclaw is going to win.” John said resolutely, knowing that Hufflepuff was nowhere in the running and Ravenclaw was his second choice. 

“And I think Gilderoy Lockhart is a giant fake and should be eradicated from the wizarding world. That doesn’t mean it will happen.”

“A little positive attitude goes a long way.” 

Sherlock sighed, leaning his head back and basking in the warmth. “Wake me when the train comes.” 

“We are going to the match on Saturday. I will wake you up then.” 

Sherlock grumbled, John ignored him, and they both eventually dozed off, satisfied with the end of the term. 

** 

Ravenclaw had won the match and the cup, mostly because Gryffindor had to use their reserve seeker since Harry Potter was in hospital. 

The school had been abuzz the day after exams when it was discovered that Harry Potter was unconscious in the hospital after he partook in a daring tale of heroism and courage with his two friends to get the sorcerer’s stone. 

People had fawned over the story, gushing about how brave and smart the Gryffindors were for figuring how to get to the stone and send it back to Mr. Flammel. And at the end of the year feast, it was announced that not only did Ravenclaw not win, but Gryffindor overcame Slytherin with some last minute awarded points. 

After the feast John had met up with Sherlock, and the two walked to the owelry so John could send his last letter to his sister, reminding her that he was coming home next week and would need a place to stay. 

“Does it bother you?” John asked quietly as they both watched Hound fly away with his letter. Sherlock glanced at him questioningly. “That the Gryffindors got all of the credit for finding and saving the stone?” 

Sherlock frowned slightly before shrugging, looking back at Hound, barely able to see him. “We didn’t do it for credit.” Sherlock said. 

“Yeah, of course not, we did it to stop Voldemort and Quirrell. But…we didn’t do either of those things, and now Gryffindor won the cup and got points for something that we did months ago!” 

“Quirrell is dead, and Voldemort…” Sherlock paused before shrugging. “I don’t know what happened to him actually.” 

“Quirrell is dead?” John asked. 

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, he hasn’t been spotted since before the Gryffindors entered the corridor, he never exited the area, his belongings were packed up and sent away, there haven’t been any announcements of his arrest or any disciplinary action…he is most certainly dead.” 

John frowned, scratching at the back of his neck. He wasn’t a stranger to death, but he wasn’t quite sure how he should feel about the death of his once-professor who turned out to be smuggling a dark wizard on his person. “Well then…”

“I agree, it is strange.” Sherlock shrugged and waved his hand absently before turning and walking towards the stairs. “Enough about that, lets go get some of those biscuits that you like so much from the kitchens, and then see if we can find Mycroft and watch as he struggles through his good bye to Anthea…I could use some good blackmail on him…” 

“You’re the one that likes those biscuits.” John said with a laugh, and Sherlock smirked before flouncing down the stairs. John paused at the top, spinning around and taking in the owelry, where he met Sherlock Holmes months ago at the start of term. He had been so lonely, upset, and hopeless and Sherlock had given him the ability to focus on something interesting, and learn to be happy again. 

He took a deep breath and let it out, smiling at the owls, who probably thought he was a lunatic. He owed Mike Stamford a lot for the introduction, he should buy him all of his books for next year or something, to show his gratitude. 

“John! Surely even you haven’t forgotten how to walk down stairs? Do I need to come up and show you how its done?” 

On second thought, maybe he would only buy Mike one book.


End file.
